


remember when

by allucinoctis



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Apocalypse, F/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Soulmates, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23703421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allucinoctis/pseuds/allucinoctis
Summary: whilst a lonely old man wanders through the aftermath of an apocalypse searching for his soulmate, you're left wondering why the hell yours is named after a fucking number. you regret holding that grudge because you soon find out he literally manipulated time to save the world, and find you.
Relationships: Five/Reader, Number Five x Reader, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Reader, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)/Reader
Comments: 126
Kudos: 495
Collections: Angry teen is soft for s/o





	1. {prologue} remember when

**Author's Note:**

> i know i'm disappointingly late to the umbrella academy bandwagon, but i'm here now, obsessed with this grumpy time traveller. five owns my heart and soul and i have zero (0) regrets uwu
> 
> this is in a bit of a weird timeline wherein five travelled back from the apocalypse, same events as everything in the show then they travel back to when the umbrella academy kids were 13 like in the show. they managed to prevent the apocalypse (by treating vanya like the fucking angel she is smh) so then it never happened. they aged up like normal and here they're in their early 20s.
> 
> i hope u enjoy! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

_Black ink is etched into your wrist, more emphatic than any tattoo. Your parents had long since fed you story after story of their love fables, of star-struck eyes and uncontrollable passion. Touches that set your skin aflame and smiles that make the agonising wonder of life that much more tolerable._

_All because of the person written on your wrist._

_The intricacies were confusing but sound; if your beloved was foreign, their name would be written in a modified script of your native language. One girl in your class constantly boasted about the Japanese boy on her wrist, another boy peering close at the Slavic name on his. It was comforting to your young minds – one more person to watch cartoons and bake cookies with._

_“What about people who share the same name, then?”_

_Your queries never ceased, but your parents were happy to oblige. Your mother would perch you on her lap as your father explained. “Their name is written in their handwriting. Not everyone shares the same handwriting, now, do they?” That was hardly any better – having to hunt down your soulmate using only their first name in their handwriting? Younger you couldn’t fathom it. Apparently their last name doesn’t appear until you are united, such as in holy matrimony or something similar. But, didn’t some soulmates change their surnames to match their partner’s?_

_All these loopholes discombobulated your young brain, and you were told the usual “you’ll understand when you’re older”._

_So you tried pushing those thoughts aside, instead focusing on the four letters engraved on your skin. Or rather, Five. Ignoring the fact the person you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with was named after a damn number, it was written in what you could only describe as chicken scratch. You hope against all hope your soulmate isn’t some illiterate country bumpkin._

_Maybe having such a unique name would make them easier to find?_

_As life dragged on, so did your patience. You lost count of the amount of times you glimpsed people writing their names down in order to identify their soulmates. It was a little surprising that a couple of your friends who couldn’t care less about the ink on their wrist dated whoever, and you sure weren’t going to snitch when your number of a soulmate hadn’t showed themself yet. However, there was a glimmer of optimism in your teenage body, so you held out on hook ups._

_Not to say you haven’t tried finding them. A quick Google search wielded little other than some guy from a group of superhero kids in America who were popular a few years ago, but you doubt it was your soulmate. If they were that famous, surely he would have reached out by now?_

_Later your thoughts were consumed by high school and exams and university applications. After working so incredibly hard, you achieved impeccable grades that got you into your country’s top institutions, and your parents sobbed enough to fill swimming pools. However, you grew tired of your current location and wanted a change of pace. Thankfully, an American Ivy League university accepted your application and you set off for the States. With a long hug from your parents and an even longer whine from your dog, it was goodbye to your home and hello to the land of the brave and the home of the free._

_Nevertheless, your soulmate was always on your mind. As you wrote study notes, you wondered what they studied. Did they even like school? As you scrolled through all your favourite albums, you wondered what they listened to. As you video called your friends and family, you wondered if they had a life as complex and intricate as yours, and if they were excited to share the rest of it with you. As you watched the hustle and bustle of occupied people from your dorm window, you wondered what they were seeing right now. Were they even in the same country?_

_You wistfully sighed._

_They sure weren’t going to make this easy for you._

* * *

_“Sounds like a cutie.” Klaus taunted, gripping onto Five’s wrist._

_Five swatted his brother away, determined not to let him distract him from the mission. Reginald insisted all seven of them cover up their soulmate names (“love is pointless when you’re saving the world”) so that also meant avoiding the topic of them altogether. Of course, it didn’t take a genius to notice Allison and Luther, but Five kept his nose out of it. Klaus had ogled over his from the moment he learned how to read, reflecting on how many ‘David’s there were in the world, and which one would be his. Vanya had opened up to him about hers, whispering to him about it during a midnight snack the two once shared. The name on her wrist was clearly female, and she seemed surer than ever that she didn’t want anyone else to know. That was Vanya; as secretive as ever._

_“Awfully nice handwriting too!” This time a pout adorned Klaus’ features and his teasing didn’t relent. “Ugh, I’m so jealous Five!”_

_“Klaus, I swear to god–”_

_Now his brother held up his hands in surrender, walking a little further ahead of him, no doubt to annoy Diego next. Five notes the smirk still evident on his face._

_Regardless of Klaus, Five would be lying if he said he didn’t think of his soulmate. The name on his wrist was clear that he had one and they were alive. Glancing down at his appendage, he had to agree with Klaus; their script was far superior to the chicken scratch he would scrawl. The thought of how his name looked on someone else’s wrist entered his mind, or rather his number. Once they all received their new names, ‘Luther’ and ‘Allison’ replaced the numbers that were previously on the two’s wrists. That meant his poor soulmate had ‘Five’ etched onto their wrist, wherever they were. Would they even know who the Umbrella Academy were? Five didn’t dwell on the matters of soulmates, but seeing Luther and Allison so happy with each other, as much as they tried to hide it, was intriguing. Being able to pour yourself into someone else, rely on them and have them rely on you, become the centres of each other’s universes._

_It didn’t sound all that bad._

_Maybe he could travel through time with you._


	2. thought i saw your shadow under the door

_Five had lost count of the amount of days that have passed. If his scraggly beard was anything to go by, it had to have been a few years since that fatal jump. Nevermind that, probably a decade. Each day entropized into one blurry haze, with no clear indication of time. His pessimism had multiplied by tenfold. Night still occured, but the comforting moon had long since left. He never considered himself particularly social, but the lack of human civilisation was irking him. Deafening silence followed him everywhere, his thoughts being the only consolation. The sun was scorching more often than not and snowstorms more violent than before. The absence of his siblings was particularly painful; he never thought he’d say it but he was starting to miss Klaus’ moronic tendencies. Perhaps this was his punishment for having too much ambition; Reginald’s gruff scolding rings in his mind. He couldn’t ‘acorn’ now._

_Much to his own chagrin, you were still prominent in his mind. His fingers brushed over your handwriting on his wrist, and he subconsciously wondered if you had survived. Some unknown force in the universe had intended for the two of you to be together, so why had this same force decided against it now? Five wondered if it was possible to miss someone he never knew. Travelling from each temporary homestead took a toll on him, and he longed for the stability a soulmate would have brought._

_He soon found a sort of substitute for you, in the most unexpected place. Five wasn’t the tallest, but he quickly outgrew his academy uniform. He had come across a clothing store that didn’t look too shattered, and upon further inspection the clothes were in decent enough condition. Whilst he searched through the pile of coat hangers and jackets, a flash of white caught his eye underneath the fabric. Sifting through, he pulled out a feminine mannequin. Or at least, half one. Her bottom half wasn’t there, and Five couldn’t spot her remaining half from where he was standing. With the softest touch, he lifted her up, running his thumb along her cheek._

_“Well, hello there.” He stared at her painted facial expression, with sooty black smears across it. “Who left you in here, all alone?”_

_Maybe all the heat had gone to his head, but he suddenly imagined the slightest smile pulling at her lips. Noticing she was bare, he scrambled to clothe her. Five couldn’t be less of a gentleman just because the world had ended, now, could he? He found a sparkly top that had only half the sequins, but he was sure she wouldn’t mind. Pulling it on over her head, he thought he saw the smile widening on her face._

_“You like sequins, huh?” He cradled her in his arm, the other carrying his bag of new clothes and already making his way back to his pull-along cart outside the store. “You certainly look lovely in them . . .”_

_Five pondered on a name to give her. She looked a little like a Delores, but also like a Margaret. His eyes wandered down to his wrist, the black ink as bold as ever. A small smile formed on his face._

_Perfect._

* * *

The cold air nips at your already reddening nose, and the thick gloves you bought last week don't seem to protect your digits from the harsh weather. Warm softness comforts your neck as you wind your scarf tighter. An extremely uncomfortable itch creeps up your legs as you walk as fast as you possibly can, hoping to generate at least some heat. You list off the usual tasks you hope you have accomplished before leaving the house: cat fed, windows closed, door locked. Your mind eases slightly. There's a gentle peace to walking to work at half seven in the morning; a profound tranquillity that you never expected to take such comfort in. After graduating university, you lost that sense of routine and productivity that provided such security. It went like clockwork — lectures, tutorials, studying in the library, then sleep. You found time in between for college parties, lunch (usually with friends), and a society. Keeping yourself so occupied created stability.

All that came to an abrupt halt when you graduated, and reflecting back on that memory reminds you of all the dazzling smiles, teary hugs and exchange of contact info you would never use again. Only your immediate family attended, and although you know your mother wished your degree was in biomedical science instead of joint psychology and English literature, you felt their pride. Your siblings were there as well, congratulating you and smiling. You were thankful to have flown them in to the US for your graduation, even if only to stay for a week afterwards. The group photo you snapped was framed on your desk at home, nestled amongst countless more of your sentimental possessions.

Moving to the suburbs was almost natural considering how low rent was (and your roommate being perpetually absent). The thick city smog had passed too much time in your lungs. The psychology conversion course you had applied for right before graduating was also a short train-ride away, and you were beyond thankful you would never have to endure the suffocating subway ever again. Getting a part-time job at the local library also happened quickly; they asked for odd shifts here and there and your schedule was ideal. It was by no means desolate; some Victorian man had fuelled a lot of funding into it, and there was a high school nearby, so it was a thriving little corner of the suburbs. Usually there were students milling about, arduously typing away at their laptops and checking out textbook after textbook. You hadn’t the slightest clue what saturated hydrocarbons were, but memorising the titles of each textbook for when another sleep-deprived senior dragged it to the front desk had been inevitable.

Today, however, it was silent. It isn’t much warmer in the library once you unlock the door and step inside, but that’s to be expected from the early morning, you suppose.

The mundane routine of switching on the heating and the power, then dumping your belongings underneath the main desk has become muscle memory now. You put away any stray book at the end of your shift yesterday, so the area is looking presentable enough. Once the library is open, it remains this quiet for a little more.

Hours slip by in a similar fashion. Soon, one of your co-workers arrives so you can leave the front desk for a bit. Milling about, placing books in their rightful places, and answering any questions was standard. Occasionally you recognise a few regulars, and smile politely at them. This was the only day that you worked the afternoons as well, so you figure it’s going to be a long day. By the afternoon, the high schoolers start spilling in, producing a quiet hum throughout the library. After directing an elderly person to the historical fiction section, you head back to the main desk.

Your co-worker, Damian, sends a smile your way whilst he types away at the computer. “How was your weekend?”

Grateful for the distraction, you oblige to the small talk. “Not too bad, I studied a little bit then binged that one Spanish show on Netflix.”

Damian chuckles, familiar with the exact show you’re mentioning. “Nice! Is it any good?” He was always so smiley and friendly; conversation came so easily to him. After never seeing your soulmate, you almost wish Damian’s name could have been on your wrist instead.

“I liked it, although I used it for background noise while I brushed my cat.” Thinking of your furry child puts you at ease, and you’re looking forward to returning home to her even more.

Damian stops whatever he was typing and organises a small stack of books on the desk. “Aw, cute. I want a cat but my soulmate is allergic.” As he stretches his arm over his head, his sleeve pulls back enough for you to glimpse the name etched into his skin. You hadn’t met her, but he spoke of his soulmate with such fondness you were a little envious. Their bond was admirable – when you went on lunch break with him, he would brandish a new meal that his soulmate had made for him, and the biggest smile would be plastered on his face. If only your soulmate had showed up and you could share the same connection. ‘ _This could be us but you playin’_ type beat.

“What about a dog?” You suggested, absentmindedly playing with the library ID card on your lanyard. You had meant to get a dog when you first flew out to the US, but you felt so guilty when thinking about your childhood mutt living with your parents back home. What if you visited and he sniffed a different dog’s scent on you and became upset? You could never betray him like that. Instead, you opted for a rescue cat who loved you every bit as much as your old dog did.

Your co-worker runs his fingers through his dark curls, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, maybe. If either of our schedules improve, that is.”

“I think you should. Practise raising a child, y’know?”

This elicits a chuckle from him as he leans back into his chair. A comfortable silence forms between you two. Suddenly, he straightens up, his eyes bright. He looks directly into your eyes when he starts speaking. “I just remembered something! I was going to text you about it but I kept forgetting. You know how your soulmate’s a number?”

You nod slowly. _How could you forget?_

“There’s a regular that comes every week checking out books about physics and math and stuff. I didn’t pay much attention to him until I noticed his name on the registry.” Damian goes back to rapidly typing on the computer, pulling up the information registry of each library cardholder. He beckons you over, and you walk behind the desk and lean down to watch the screen. He clicks to the recent book borrows, and pulls up one receipt. As your eyes scroll past the three books about astrophysics and theoretical physics and the check-out date being Friday afternoon, you scan the name at the bottom of the receipt.

_Five Hargreeves._

“Holy fuck.”

Incredulous, you take a deep breath. The surname sounded so familiar but you couldn’t place a finger on why. Damian clearly agrees. “I know, right? He only comes like once a week, and only during the afternoon. I know you work just one afternoon in a week. What are the odds your soulmate was so close yet off by just a little?”

Your heartbeat thumps faster, as if your poor little heart anticipates the long-awaited appearance of your soulmate. Eyebrows furrowing, you reread the name again and again; yet the text onscreen remains as clear as day. The eye contact you make with Damian conveys how hesitant you are.

Damian quickly looks up from the computer and around the library to ensure you two weren’t accidentally ignoring anyone asking for help before he freezes in place. His posture becomes rigid and his eyes are transfixed on something. Confused, you look over to him, tapping his shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

Slowly, his eyes focus on yours. His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. “Don’t freak out but . . .” He gradually changes his position to be facing away from the desk. His shocked eyes flash between yours and whatever spooked him so badly.

“. . . he’s right there.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. Damian indicates with his eyes exactly where he’s looking. You slowly follow his gaze towards a secluded corner of the science section. Next to a packed bookshelf there’s a shaded table with a few cushioned chairs. Seated comfortably in one of these chairs whilst hunched over a book with the most concentrated of expressions is a young man about the same age as you. He has mahogany hair combed into neat bangs, and dressed as if he walked straight out of a private boarding school. He has a red, oversized jumper pulled over a white polo shirt; its collar is crisp on top of the jumper. Your heart lurches out of your chest – he has an impeccable style.

Smirking, Damian tugs at your wrist. As you gingerly look back, you don’t miss the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Go up to him.”

You blink, your mind short-circuiting. Gaining your senses, you aggressively whisper. “Are you shitting me–”

“Did I fucking stutter? Look, I have an Einstein biography here, you can go over there to put it on the shelf and talk to him.” Damian sifts through the books on his desk and, sure enough, pulls out said book and hands it over to you. “Here.”

Mouth agape, you stare at the book. Is this really happening right now? Over two decades of waiting for this goddamn person resulted in this exact moment? You didn’t even know your soulmate’s gender, and if anything you assumed ‘five’ was more of a feminine number. Even then, nothing could have prepared you for this feeling in your chest.

Damian rolls his eyes and turns you around to face your soulmate’s direction. “Get in there, you dork.”

For some reason out of your control, your feet move before your brain even switches on. You’re slowly walking over to the science section as your breathing becomes more erratic. Your head whirls around to look back at Damian, who has his thumbs up and is smiling like a Cheshire cat; if only you had an ounce of his confidence. This drags you back to those house parties back in college, where your friends would go off to a hook-up or refill their cups and you were stuck like a deer in the headlights in the midst of pulsating lights and clouds of marijuana. Before you know it, you’re right in front of the bookshelf and Five is in his chair, not even looking up. That’s both comforting and slightly disappointing, but you steady your breathing. You analyse the alphabetical labels of the shelves before placing the book in its correct place. Now you have to find an excuse to stay here until you find the courage to speak, so you sort through the books in this section to put things back in their place.

Your mind (and heart) is racing a mile a minute, and before you can focus on one train of thought another races past. All of a sudden your cheeks heat up and you feel you’re shaking with nerves. You roll up your sleeves, fingers tracing over the inked wrist.

Just as you pull a book off the shelf, there’s an audible _thump_ from the right. From the corner of your eye, it looks like Five just finished his book. Determined, you dutifully organise the shelf, trying to be as distracted as possible. You’re painfully aware of Damian’s eyes focusing on the back of your head. _Stay distracted, stay distracted, stay distracted, stay distra–_

“Excuse me, do you know where the next book in this series is?”

Your blood runs cold. Your eyes dart up to his face and his breath catches in your throat.

_Oh. He’s even prettier up close._

He must have been carved in marble by God himself because he’s _ethereal._ High cheekbones, skin the colour of milkiest coffee and eyelashes longer than any man should have. As expected, you’re holding eye contact and _goodness_ , you could get used to being the object of his gaze. His eyes are pools of iridescent crystal, a cool mixture of hazel and green, quite frankly the prettiest colour you’ve ever seen. Oh god, when had you become Shakespeare?

You blink. Several seconds transpire before you realise what he just asked. Your eyes refocus on the book in his hand. It was a book on theoretical physics, the first book in a series of four, which you had also seen in his borrowing receipt from last week. Of course you knew where the next one was, especially if he was asking.

“Uh, sure. It’s right here.” Finally, you give a response, before you scan the bookshelf for the author’s initial. Inconspicuously, you turn your head to glimpse Damian, who looks incredibly exasperated. He mouths _just do it!_ very aggressively right before he becomes occupied with someone walking up to the front desk.

As you grab the book Five requested, you regain your composure. You reassure yourself that your anxiety is pointless; if he was the Five you were looking for, you could just check the name on his wrist and confirm. The universe intended for you to be together, so what did you have to be stressed about? With that in mind, you pass the book over to him, smiling softly.

He takes it and nods his head politely. “Thank you.” To your disappointment, he starts turning to sit back in his seat and you realise _this_ is your opportunity. You repeat the previous affirmations in your head as you force your voice out.

“I think you’re my soulmate.”

You speak up with more courage than you expected. Just for extra measure, you show your wrist to him in clear view.

His face morphs into pure shellshock, pupils blown wide. His gaze shifts from your face to your wrist, and the tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. There’s a sharp look in his eyes that you can’t quite describe. Once again, your heart trembles, but in a much more ominous manner than before. The silence that follows is agonising. Until he takes action.

By briskly rushing out of the library, two books left on his chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quarantine has me feeling so productive sklfsjfksfj hope you're all doing well in this strange time!!


	3. just a trick of the light i've seen before

_Being assigned to assassinate the president of United States should have fazed him more than his deadpan expression cared to show. Five adjusted his eyepiece, squinting into the deafening crowds and approaching car. The automobile was moving painfully slowly, so he risked a glance at his small notebook to the side. Haphazard equations were scribbled all over the pages, so much so Five almost couldn’t tell where one calculation ended and another began. His eyes skimmed over his estimates to his most recent one. This one ensured he would come back in the right timeline, at least eight days before the apocalypse. Of course, he wanted to arrive a little earlier but Five was no stranger to the ramifications of excessive time travel._

_He deliberated between completing his mission or going over his notes. Technically, if he didn’t shoot, he was sure the Commission had a backup who would do the job anyway. At the same time, he was definitely going to be hunted down relentlessly by the organisation if he successfully travelled back. Five was indeed their superior prize, but that didn’t mean they were short of other fiercely determined killers. This job had become a pastime whilst he perfected his calculations, and now it fulfilled its purpose. What use was fixing blips in the space-time continuum if there was a problem involving his family he had every means to remedy? He would have hundreds of world leaders to assassinate, but only one family._

_Only one soulmate._

_Dropping the cool metal, he leaned down to pick up his notebook. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and flipped through the pages, checking over each equation. One of them didn’t look ideal but he had no other clue how to set it out – the academy didn’t exactly teach him how to time travel back before the world as they knew it ended. He cringed at the ear-splitting excitement of the crowd behind him. Couldn’t they see he was trying to save the world here?_

_Stalling any longer wouldn’t help, either. Eventually, he felt satisfied with his calculations and rose from his sitting position. It was now or never. He hadn’t much else to lose at this point, but knowing he had the power to save his family was gnawing away at him, consuming his every thought. Grasping his fists together, once again repeating all the formulas in his mind, Five began to conjure the trans-dimensional gateway he needed to reach his family._

_Five felt each of his atoms rip apart like raw meat and rearrange themselves into thirteen-year-old him, not looking a day older than the day he first left. He cursed himself, knowing one of those equations didn’t look right. Tumbling through the portal and into the leafy backyard of the Umbrella Academy wasn’t the most ceremonious of entrances, but at least he was in one piece. His dazed siblings followed him inside, and whilst he fixed himself a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich, he gave them the rundown. As expected, their smaller brains couldn’t comprehend it. Especially the monkey-brained Luther. His superiority complex was bothersome, to say the least, considering the world was ending and all the idiot cared about was being sent to the moon._

_Klaus, though . . . Five missed him. He missed those bright eyes, cheery smirk and quick-witted wisecracks. He wasn’t much of an intellectual but a nice distraction from the storm raging in Five’s mind. Like a flimsy umbrella, if you will._

_“You’ve never gotten laid, have you?”_

_Five suddenly recalled why he time-jumped in the first place. He expelled an irritated sigh before replying. “If you must know, I was with someone.” His beloved mannequin flashed before his eyes, a fond smile on his face._

_Klaus raised his eyebrows, taking a swig from whatever he was drinking. “Seriously? Who could tolerate your jerk-ass?”_

_A scowl is quick to shut Klaus up, but he awaited an answer nonetheless._

_Hesitating, Five was unsure how to respond. He didn’t save her from the apocalypse, but he found her department store and reunited with her. However, his soulmate was alive in this reality. Perhaps he didn’t need to project onto his plastic wife anymore. Granted he hadn’t the slightest idea where they were, and definitely wouldn’t have the time to search right now, but they weren’t the plastic doll he had grown attached to. Klaus wasn’t unkind by any means, but if he was given a chance to howl with laughter at something, he wouldn’t relent. Naming an inanimate object after his soulmate wouldn’t go unnoticed. Saving face, Five opted for a different name. “Her name was Delores. We were together for over thirty years.”_

_A high-pitched whistle sounded from his brother. “Wow. The longest I’ve ever been with someone was three weeks.” He set down his bottle, and seemed to be reminiscing. Once he began rambling about his failed relationships, Five tuned out._

_Cars raced by as the warm spell of sunshine bathed the sidewalk. The weather was so nice, something that ‘Delores’ would have appreciated. He wished he had more time; that the fate of the world didn’t rest on the Umbrella Academy’s shoulders right now. Later, when the Handler promised to protect both his soulmate and family, his heart thumped in his chest, sharply aware of all that hung in the balance. Life was so despairingly short – he was just a ‘boomer’ (as Klaus so eloquently put it) in a boy’s body who could jump through time and space. He observed his siblings vicariously navigate the soulmate atmosphere – Klaus had found his, yes, but only after accidentally time travelling into a warzone, Luther and Allison were still playing footsie with each other, Vanya was manipulated by someone who wasn’t even her soulmate, and don’t even get him started on whatever drama Diego was going through. Ben’s absence felt like a hole in the patchwork quilt of his family, and he hoped that by stopping the apocalypse, maybe he could stop Ben’s death too. He had never shown any of them who his soulmate was._

_Five prioritised preventing the end of the world, sniffing after each clue like a bloodhound. He reminded himself his soulmate would still be safe and sound once he managed to accomplish his main task._

_He had survived sixty years in a barren wasteland. He was sure he could wait a little more._

* * *

The library’s walls seem to close in, inching closer and closer. The two books on his chair flash in your vision. Time comes to an abrupt halt and you’re still trying to comprehend what happened. Your chest aches, as if scrubbed with bleach. Fingers itching and chest heaving, you whirl around to find an anchor to hold on to.

Damian, finished with a customer, quickly rises from his chair. He rushes over to you, hand gently placed on your shoulder. His eyes dart between the chair and the main entrance, just as confused. “Did that really just happen?” He mutters, but more to himself.

You gulp, nodding. You check the time. _2:58PM_. Your shift is technically over in a couple minutes, but clocking out now sounds like a dream. Almost running over to the main desk, you grab your belongings and shrug on your jacket. Damian, beyond lost, quietly watches. He’s never seen you this distressed before, and it’s honestly harrowing. He’d seen you a little down sometimes, but that was nothing a smile and a hug couldn’t fix. But now, having seen the man destined to complete you just walk out like some failed marriage, he felt your pain. Waiting for your soulmate was an innate anxiety – he knew of people who went to therapy for it. Luckily he met his in high school and their lives coincided even into adult life, but the pieces of your puzzle didn’t fit quite as neatly. He was ecstatic in finding out Five’s name in the registry, looking forward to finally being able to help you on your journey. He had no clue the same guy would bolt at first sight. A twinge of guilt blooms in Damian’s chest as he stares at you swinging your backpack on with urgency he’d only seen in animals on the run from predators in documentaries. He slowly approaches the main desk, eyes scanning your each movement.

By the time you’re ready to leave, you’re silent. A “see you later” slips from your tight-lipped smile, your figure dashing out the library. Damian wishes a smile and a hug would have worked right then.

The route home has become muscle memory at this point. The butcher’s, followed by the greengrocer’s and a few convenience stores are all lined up as landmarks on your journey. Normally you’d walk right past, but a little ice cream and potato chips don’t sound too bad right now. After buying your unhealthy confectionaries, you’re back on your way to your apartment, the sting of today still profound. You miss your cat already – she was probably snoozing away on your bed, which was her favourite spot despite the cat basket and fluffy-lined cat tree you had bought her. Oh, to be the oblivious pet of a student.

Soon, you find yourself curled up on the couch, your cat nestled on your lap and your thumb tapping the remote, searching for the right senseless garbage to lose yourself in on Netflix. You considered starting a video game, but that required brain power, and you had your conversion course in the morning. Flipping through your notes frazzled the few brain cells you possessed, so a show without too much of a plot seemed ideal. Right when you find an 80s teen film you’ve seen before, your phone buzzes from your side. You pretend you don’t hear it. As if to alert you, your cat nudges your hand.

“Alright, Lola, I’m picking up.” Your mind eases when you spot Damian’s caller ID, and answer the call on speaker. At least you wouldn’t have to pretend.

“Hey, Cinderella.” His soft voice rings through. “The clock almost struck three and you ran from the ball, huh?”

You chuckle, scratching your cat underneath her chin. Her purring vibrates against your hand. “More like _he_ ran! Is being my soulmate that scary?”

There’s a bump before Damian speaks again, his voice sounding a little further away. “You were wearing Doc Martens and knife earrings. Your eyeliner was sharp enough to cut my rent in half. Maybe he’s intimidated by egirls?”

A noise of indignation escapes you before you respond. “I think the correct term is _alternative_. Besides I was a nervous wreck speaking to him, if anything, _I_ was intimidated. You know me, Damian; a butterfly startles the shit out of me.”

“Fair enough.” His laugh is clear through the speaker. A pause follows. Then his voice drops tremendously. “Seriously though, are you okay? You left in such a hurry and I—”

You switch the TV off, figuring you won’t be starting that film anytime soon. Much to Lola’s annoyance, you get up and make your way to the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I’m okay. A little upset, but I’ll live.” You rustle through the cupboards, looking for the potato chips you bought. Once you’ve apprehended your target, you and Lola amble to your bedroom. “I’m just really confused. I couldn’t possibly have said anything to offend him; I literally showed him my wrist and told him I thought he was my soulmate. He didn’t even take his books with him when he straight up dipped like his life depended on it.”

An audible sigh comes before shuffle on the line, and Damian’s voice comes back closer to the microphone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything. I was so happy for you because it seemed to all be working out.”

You sink down onto your bed. Sensing the dismal atmosphere, Lola rests her head on your thigh. “You’re not to blame. Maybe he’s afraid of commitment? My uncle and his wife didn’t get together for a while because he was terrified of monogamy. I think he only married her after all his affairs didn’t work out.”

“Oh, the uncle that didn’t believe in soulmates?” Damian clarifies. Sharing a couple shifts together resulted in many personal anecdotes.

“Yep. I mean, they’re super happy now but it was so rocky at the start of their relationship. They didn’t even move in together until they got married, which was a good three years in.” Fiddling with the drawstring on your pyjama bottoms, you pause your ramble. “Aren’t soulmates meant to just click?”

“I suppose. Stella and I shared math together in high school. She saw my name written down when she was passing out the graded quizzes and we hit it off from there.” There’s a huff – probably the recall of a fond memory. “It was weird though. I hated math so I barely paid attention, I didn’t even know she was in that class with me until she approached me.”

You had heard this story before, but something tells you Damian’s reflecting on it more than before. “Was it love at first sight?”

He pauses, before saying, “I was definitely attracted to her, before I knew her name. Then we found out we were soulmates and hung out a lot more. From there, we stuck together.” His voice mellows out a little. “Now I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”

Taking a few more potato chips into your mouth, you pull a face even though you know he can’t see. “Eww, I feel the cooties coming through the speaker.”

Once again, his laugh crackles through before a sarcastic remark. “Oh, ha ha.”

Another pause ensues, and you take this opportunity to stuff your face further. He continues, “Not to say we’re perfect, though. We still argue and disagree. Obviously we respect each other’s boundaries, but we are aware we’re two individuals choosing to make it work for the rest of our lives. I’d say it’s a conscious commitment rather than a feeling.”

Yours ears perk up. “What, do you mean love?”

“Yeah. I’ve known Stella for almost a decade at this point; I know her as well as I know myself, pretty much. The bad parts with the good.” You feel bad for interrupting this deep exchange with another crunch of your potato chips, but Damian either ignores it or is so engrossed with thought he doesn’t hear. “I still feel strongly for her, but there are times I lose patience and doubt my feelings. Then we sit down and properly talk things out. Communication is key.”

You suppress a snort. He sounds just like your dad, back when you used to badger your parents for any and all information about relationships.

“Alright, father.” A crunch, courtesy of you, resounds right into the microphone.

Damian snorts. “I’m serious! Honestly, I would tell your Five the same thing. No problem can’t be fixed with a little communication.”

 _Your_ Five. Damian just referred to Five as _yours_. You hate to admit it, but your heart hammers in your chest.

“God, I wish that were me.” You mutter, to which Damian once again heartily chuckles. How does happiness come so easy to him?

“Me too. I was really hoping you two would hit it off, and come with me and Stella on a double date.” You don’t know whether to cry or laugh at the intense sincerity in his voice. You opt on the latter, finding it so endearing.

The line goes quiet. A long sigh leaves your body, taking a bit of tiredness with it. Talking to Damian lightened your mood slightly, and you pull your laptop toward yourself for some distraction. This wouldn’t be the first time you and him had a call with some comfortable silence as the each of you did your own thing. After checking your dull emails, you open up Google. Out of pure boredom, your fingers drum out ‘five’. The usual suggestions pop up. You add the first few letters of his last name. Almost instantly, the search engine gives new suggestions.

_‘Five Hargreeves’._

_‘Five Hargreeves Umbrella Academy’._

_‘Five Hargreeves Umbrella Academy Disbandment’._

_‘Five Hargreeves 2019’._

The cogs slowly start turning in your brain. An electric pulse flashes through your body as you recall why his surname sounded so familiar. Memories of your late-night internet searches as a teenager resurface, wondering who the hell the number on your wrist was.

_Holy fuck._

“Do you . . . know about the Umbrella Academy?” You speak up, eyes still focused on the laptop screen.

“I think so?” There’s a female voice on the other end, and Damian quickly says something to her before his voice comes back, louder. “They were the group of superhero kids, right?”

“Yeah.”

A couple clicks later, you stumble upon a picture of Five Hargreeves. It’s exactly the man who dashed out on you earlier today, if a decade or so younger. An icy glare paints his features, as if he’d happily break the photographer’s back like a glowstick, and bust his kneecaps right after. There are a few more pictures attached, and after reading the captions you learn those are his adopted siblings. An eerie guilt sets in your chest, and suddenly you feel like a kid finding out something you shouldn’t.

“Come to think of it,” Damian’s voice comes through, now with the same hint of realisation you had a moment ago. “Wasn’t one of them named after a . . . ?”

Another breath is expelled from your body. “ _Yeah._ ”

During the silence, you can only imagine Damian’s dropped jaw. “No fucking way.”

“Deadass! Search him up right now.”

There’s some aggressive tapping, most probably his fingers scrambling for Google on his phone, and his voice follows along not too long after. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” He breathes out your name, enunciating each syllable as if meeting you for the first time. “Your soulmate is a fucking superhero? You’re telling me a _superhero_ was a regular at our library?”

Back when you first searched him up, all those years ago, you didn’t find it plausible that ‘ordinary’ you had an ‘extraordinary’ soulmate. You brushed the idea off like crumbs on your shirt. Thinking back, you feel a little stupid. What are the odds of there being another ‘Five’ out there in the world. The last kick in the butt would probably be his handwriting, but you couldn’t find a picture of that anywhere. In all the pictures of him posing with his supernatural family, his wrist never came into full view. You glimpsed the umbrella tattoo further along his forearm, but both of his wrists looked blank. You had heard of people who used laser removal to wipe their soulmates off their wrist, but you’d never met one yourself. There are a couple public events the academy attended, but not a lot of interviews. Their father, a gruff, sinister-looking fossil, insisted his 'students' (not his children, apparently) were dedicated and highly trained heroes, ready to defend the world from impending doom. Five is a strong presence in all the pictures. He usually stands next to this other taller boy with unruly hair and a cheeky grin – a stark contrast to Five’s condescending smirk. Then again, these pictures were from when they were what, thirteen? Maybe fourteen? A deeper internet dive shows how they unofficially disbanded five or so years later. The pretty, tan girl with thick curls pursued an acting career, the dark-haired boy with a perpetual scowl enrolled in a police-training academy, and the meek girl who only appeared in a few pictures was playing the violin in an orchestra. There’s no other information on the rest of them, just that the Number One lingered at home a little longer than the rest of his siblings before he too flew the nest.

Guilt settles on your conscience. You’re very aware that you’re digitally stalking your soulmate and his family without his knowledge. It feels like peering in on your dollhouse when you were younger; watching the artificial scene you had posed all your dolls into. Feeling like you’re covertly observing their lives. You wished you had a chance to speak to him today instead of searching him up, but he didn’t seem to share your sentiment. Before you click further into the actress girl’s (Allison, you learn her name is) social media, you close the tab. There’s only so much about Five you can discover online.

You can wait until he tells you all about it himself.

As you end the call with Damian, you prepare for bed. Sleep came fairly easily, and the following days came and went in a similar fashion. Your routine wasn’t disrupted and you plan to keep it that way. You didn’t work the afternoon shift again that week, so thoughts of Five were pushed to the side, for now at least. Whilst it still hurt knowing your soulmate ran at first sight, at least you still had your cat, Damian and your job. You weren’t going to let your soulmate distract you from what you had. It had already been over twenty years and you were doing just fine.

* * *

A woman’s voice on the intercom rattles off the arrivals of departures of all the trains as Five hurries into the station. His exterior is stone cold whilst his heartbeat is racing erratically. His mind is still trying to process what happened, as if he’s watching his life in third person. Her hopeful eyes, the sleeve of her turtleneck pulled up enough for his gaze to transfix on his name very clearly scrawled on her wrist.

_Oh god._

_It was really her._

The sixty years spent in the apocalypse coupled with the extra twenty finally dawned on him. He truly knew little about his soulmate. Admittedly, the mannequin he named after her couldn’t compare. There was a nervous edge to her voice, and the way she anxiously maintained eye contact was so endearing. It contrasted with the small knife earrings that adorned her ears, and the cute plaid skirt she was wearing. It faintly reminded him of his old plaid uniform, but on her it seemed softer, more stylish. Had she not spoken, he would have assumed she spent her time in underground indie concerts, fairy lights ornamented on her shoulders. He hadn’t seen her before; he had gotten used to the curly-haired guy and a few other workers, but she wasn’t in that regular line-up. Either way, he recognised that cream-coloured lanyard as a sign of approachability.

He hadn’t even planned to go to the library today – he just knew he wouldn’t have time to finish his book at home so he decided to knock it out there and pick up the next in the series while he was at it. He would never have envisioned the cute library worker would brandish her soulmate tattoo right then and there. Unconsciously, his fingers brush over his own wrist.

Glancing up at the timetable, he notices his train is coming soon. The wooden bench is suddenly very inviting.

Five feels like a lost puppy that lost sight of its owner. Klaus once told him he reminded him of a Shiba Inu, pulling up a picture of the most grouchy-looking one he could find. Five always considered himself more of a cat person, but he let the comment slide. Now he wished Klaus was here, offering his badly worded but often meaningful advice. He had moved in with Dave quite recently so he saw his brother a lot less, but it was comforting to see him so happy. At least someone else could deal with the tornado that was Klaus.

After managing to stop the end of the world, that also meant stopping Ben’s death. So Five technically had another brother to turn to. Ben was still in university, and lived on campus with a roommate he seemed happy with. He still hadn’t told any of them about his soulmate yet, but he was going at his own pace and enjoying each day as it came. Knowing him, he was probably content as long as his nose was buried in a book.

Everything seemed to be falling into place, yet Five felt off. Was this the absence everyone was talking about without your soulmate? His train screeches to a halt in front of him and he boards, mind full. Only then does he realise he left the physics books back in the library.

He also realises he left _you_ back in the library as well. Standing still. Arm outstretched. A ginger smile on your lips. Hope dancing in your eyes. The cutest accent he’s ever heard.

He really left you hanging, didn’t he?

When he was younger, soulmates summoned a feeling of comfort and certainty. As he grew and registered his sibling’s experiences, that belief unravelled into unpredictability and confusion. You were meant to pass the rest of time with this person, but what if it didn’t work out? Allison managed to ‘rumour’ Patrick into the relationship despite her wrist clearly suggesting someone else. After it broke down, it was still difficult building that relationship with Luther. Even now, in this new timeline, they were wading through the murky waters of _more than friends_. Five always had a soft spot for Vanya, which is why it stung a little more seeing a stranger manipulate his way into her heart, just by giving her the love and attention the rest of them failed to do. Five had met Eudora, Diego’s soulmate, in person once. He could never forget how lovingly his eyes were fixed on her, even when introducing her to the rest of them. Her hand was clutched in his, his thumb rhythmically rubbing circles onto the back of it. He naturally gravitated towards her, even if they weren’t physically touching. But Five noticed the little things. Eudora sometimes excused herself from the room once Diego entered it. If Diego slipped one too many inside jokes, she’d roll her eyes and change the subject. She swatted his physical advances away more than once. Five didn’t want to judge, but she didn’t look as invested as Diego clearly was. His name was laid bare on her wrist, so there was no mistake there. Five hadn’t seen them since that one meeting, though, so the circumstances of their relationship were never mentioned again. Even in this new timeline, the siblings barely spoke to each other than a quick dinner during Thanksgiving or Christmas. There hadn’t been any weddings or funerals yet, so they shifted apart. It doesn’t seem as bad as the first timeline, though.

Old Hargreeves still hadn’t kicked the bucket. On the topic of their father, Reginald would never admit to it, but the passing of his late wife was devastating. This contempt of soulmates obviously bled into him insisting all of them cover their tattoos. That was another fear – what if one of them died early? Obviously there was no certainty that they would die entangled in each other’s arms as the life slowly seeped out their bodies at the same time.

Five took great pride in knowing he emotionally matured better than his siblings, especially in the previous timeline. All those years wandering alone gave him a lot of time to think. Klaus and Dave were the only positive example of soulmates he’d perceived, and the last time he saw the two was a few weeks ago. As expected, Klaus was practically draped over Dave the entire one hour their lunch date lasted. _Oh, this? No, it’s not the new Gucci scarf, it’s touch-starved orphan with the ability to talk to the dead. Complements my dog tags quite well, don’t you think?_

They admirably balanced each other out – Klaus was crazed cackling and excitable chatter, Dave was soft smiles and kind thoughtfulness.

Would his personality fit with hers? Five admitted he could be cold and standoffish at times, and not the friendliest. What if she was extroverted and dragged him to all the gatherings she was invited to? Would she be disappointed if he couldn’t socialise as well as her? At least with the mannequin version of her, she was understanding if a little firm.

Nevertheless, a sense of regret tingles in his chest. Maybe he shouldn’t have walked out so suddenly. That was a bit emotionally immature of him, he admitted. Seeing the woman that he based his last wife around in the flesh, no shiny plastic in sight, was petrifying. He feared that he constructed an elaborate personality of her in his mind, and his expectations of her could be too high. Would she even react well to knowing he reimagined her as a mannequin for sixty years? Then there was the issue of his powers. She could have searched him up by now, knowing the academy like the back of her hand. How would he begin to explain the apocalypse to her?

Five’s thoughts were a whirlwind of anxiety and confusion. He didn’t have Klaus’ charm, or Ben’s approachability, or Allison’s charisma, or Vanya’s empathy, or Diego’s well-hidden but still loving nature. Well, he could, he had shown that to his plastic wife for so long, but now he had a living human who could talk back. Express distaste or dislike. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he never gave that knowledge the time of day since it never mattered to him.

A small voice clears its throat in the back of his mind, shyly interrupting his train of thought. _Maybe it doesn’t matter to her, either._

Five ponders on this little voice as the train clatters on.

This same voice is his main driving force when he walks back into the library a few days later. He spent so much time mulling his thoughts over he was fed up of his own inner voice. Still a little unsure but determined to make things right, he strides into the fortress of books. Glancing at his favourite corner, he’s surprised to see both his books neatly stacked on the small table. Eyes raking over the rest of the library, the curly-haired worker is nestled at the main desk, focused on the computer. She’s nowhere to be seen. It’s not surprising considering Monday was the first time he’d ever seen her. Deciding he’s his best bet in locating her, he approaches the front desk.

Slowly, he looks up from the computer. Five peers at his staff ID – Damian. He also doesn’t miss how Damian’s eyes widen a little and a light frown is forming on his lips.

“Hi,” he begins, squaring his shoulders. “I’m looking for an employee here. I saw her on Monday, and—”

“(Name),” Damian cuts him off, tone deadpan. “right?”

Five opens his mouth, and then closes it. This transports him back to when he was interrogating the head of the glass eye company, relentlessly seeking answers. Something tells him he has to treat this questioning with a bit more tact. His breath hitches in his throat. “Yes? She does work here, doesn’t she?”

There’s a quiet sigh as Damian turns his chair to face Five better. “She’s your soulmate, isn’t she?”

Five’s confusion deepens. Another situation the academy never prepared him for. “Uh, yeah? How did you—”

“I saw you leave after she spoke to you.” Once again, he’s been cut short.

 _Ah_. So he had witnesses.

Awkwardly, he clears his throat. “Not my proudest moment. I was . . . shocked, and confused. I wanted to see her today and talk. In person. Properly.”

Damian’s intimidating eyes stay focused on Five, deciphering a complex puzzle he’s seen for the first time. The following silence is almost painful. In moments like these, Five wishes his power was telepathy instead.

“Her shift ended a few hours ago.” Damian tells him. Five feels like he’s under a magnifying glass, being scrutinised very closely. The library seems to quieten down as well.

However, something in the curly-haired male’s stare softens. He sighs, before pulling out a scrap of paper and a pen. “But I’ll give you her number.” He scribbles something down.

Five shifts his feet as he waits. The anticipation was building in his insides and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited too.

The paper is slid over to him, and he quickly picks it up, folding it and carefully slipping it into his jacket’s pocket. Instinctively, his fingers curl over it. A ghost of a smile pulls at his lips, and he looks back at Damian.

“Thank you.”

The other male slightly bows his head, sending a tiny beam back. There’s a brief but poignant moment of understanding.

As Five walks away, it’s with a lot less panic than the last time he exited the library. Relief washes over him in waves as his feet carry him to the train station once more. He was so close to finally reuniting with her he could almost hear her accent again. His phone suddenly feels very heavy in his pocket as he continues walking. Should he text her now? What would he even say? His hand fetches his phone of its own volition, and he’s staring at a blank screen.

Images flash past his eyes. Diego ogling at Eudora with such a profound gentleness he didn’t even show Grace, and Klaus pecking Dave’s cheek with such a deep affection Five felt he was observing a Da Vinci painting. These scenes were sweet, and warm, like the large birthday cake Mom persistently baked each year, against Reginald’s behest. Five couldn’t help the warm glow that was spreading on his cheeks and across his heart.

He could have that. And god, he wanted it too.

Without another thought, he punches your number into his phone and begins typing. He presses send before he can convince himself otherwise and pockets his phone, a newfound confidence gracing his step.

_hello, it’s five hargreeves. your soulmate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wheeeewwww this was a long one !! i hope you guys enjoyed, i kinda felt like i was rambling at times ahahah this story is super self-indulgent. i promise after this it's just pure fluff <3
> 
> this was actually meant to be even longer but i split it in half. the next chapter will be much sweeter!


	4. i can never tell what's real anymore

Lola chirps and pounces upon her food bowl as if she’d never been fed before once you spoon some of her wet food in. Her dry food was mixed with the wet to ensure she wouldn’t only devour the wet food, but she was a little sassy and would manage to pick out the succulent chunks and leave the rest. That was, until, she realised you weren’t going to spoon in any more, then she would begrudgingly finish the dry chunks as well. As she chows down, your lips widen in a smile. You scratch behind her ear, cooing at her like a baby. Whilst you’re still in the kitchen, you fix yourself a hot cup of tea.

There was a psychology essay waiting patiently on your laptop screen. Freud seemed to be comfortable on a kitchen stool, smoking his iconic pipe. His lips curl into a sneer, his posture alone mocking your lack of progress. You literally completed your degree, graduated from university (you had the certificates and pictures to prove it) but this sexist psychanalyst continued his haunting. His grating voice rambles about your _suppressed childhood trauma_ and _unresolved psychosexual stages_. “Maybe Five ran away from you because he sensed your Oedipus complex?” His thick Austrian accent drawls.

Eyes widening and mouth agape, you stare at this historical psychology figure. With a snort you quip back, “That’s an awful lot of confidence coming from a psuedoscient—”

“Who are you talking to, (Name)?” Your roommate, Sophia, calls from across the hall. Great, the one time she’s actually home is the day she hears you arguing with a dead psychologist.

You glance at Lola, who’s still happily feasting. Maybe you shouldn’t dig yourself a deeper hole by saying you were talking to your cat. “Sorry, I’m on the phone!”

Sophia doesn’t reply. Breathing a sigh of relief, you relax. Freud, however, raises his eyebrow and his eyes pointedly flicker to your (still blank) essay. You pull a face, tongue sticking out and one finger dragging your eye down. _Fuck you **and** your subconscious bullshit. As if I’m going to psychoanalyse my future clients._

That reminds you of your actual phone, quietly sitting on your desk. Since you planned on getting work done, you switched it to ‘do not disturb’ and had barely touched it. After petting Lola a little more, you carry your laptop and mug with you to your room. Sure enough, your phone is still on the desk. Settling onto your desk chair and setting your laptop down, you pick your phone up. The screen comes to life, and you smile at the soft-filtered picture of Lola napping in the sunlight as your lockscreen. You unlock it, and begin the tiresome ritual of scrolling through notifications. More emails, a couple social media notices, news alerts and a text from your parents. Nestled between your twitter feed and your parents’ text, however, is a new message. From an unknown number.

Your heartbeat quickens.

Confusion settles in. Your mind scrambles for any memory of giving out your number recently, or anyone letting you know they had given out your number to someone. No such memory resurfaces. Eyes scanning the number, it’s definitely American, and unfamiliar. Your thumb hovers over the notification, before you open the message with baited breath.

**(UNKNOWN NUMBER)** : hello, it’s five hargreeves. your soulmate.

Now apprehension sets in. Your pulse surpasses the speed of an athlete, heart feeling as if it’s going to lurch out of your chest. Your eyes reread the message over and over but the text doesn’t change. The message is laid out bare before you. How did he get your number, first off, and how did he suddenly have a change of heart? The idea of messaging Damian about this crosses your mind but you’re certain he’ll just push you to reply. An appropriate reply, however, doesn’t jump out right now.

The initial shock of the text subsides as you lean back in your chair. The thought of Five had subsided a little over the past few days as you reassured yourself there wasn’t anything you could do. Now he’s suddenly back in the picture? You hadn’t worked the afternoon shift again this week so you hadn’t seen him, and Damian definitely didn’t mention anything.

Psychology essay now completely out the window, your fingers hover over the keyboard. The timestamp indicates it was sent a couple hours ago. He’s written in all lower case, which screams _edgy fourteen-year-old_. But when you briefly spoke, he was mature and articulate. If anything, he acted much older than he looked, but his birthdate showed he was the same age as you.

Maybe you’re reading too deep into this.

He somehow found your number, and sent a message that left the ball in your court. Surely he had good intentions. His name was kinda sorta permanently engraved onto your wrist. Besides, why not hear him out?

**(you)** : hey,

Should you say ‘hey’? Does it warrant an exclamation mark as well?

**(you)** : hi, thanks for

For what? Running away from your soulmate at first sight? With a sigh, you deliberate a response even further. Something short but still keeping the ball of conversation rolling. Friendly but not gullible. Confident but sweet. Cheery but—

God, where is your mind running off to? Overthinking so much just fortified your anxiety, and you felt your lifespan shorten. You begin typing out a response giving it as little thought as possible.

**(you)** : hey, five, thanks for reaching out! how are you ?

Send.

Your phone feels a little lighter in your hands. You save his number in your contacts and, resolutely, you switch the screen off and drop it on your bed. Your interest in the psychology essay somehow decreases even more. Pulling your textbooks out of your bag, you want to at least get a start on it, Five be damned.

A distinct buzz interrupts your plans.

As much as you force them not to, your eyes dart over to your phone. The screen is lit, a new notification at the top. Anticipation flows through your body — this is the most excitement you’ve had in months. Should you answer right now? Would that be too desperate? He seemed to have responded almost instantly.

Fuck it.

Soon, your phone is back in your hands. Checking the notification, he has indeed texted back.

**(five)** : I’m good, I hope you are too.

It looks as if he’s still typing, so you wait, your breath caught in your throat.

**(five)** : are you free to call right now? I wanted to talk

He wanted to call? You? Right now? Technically you _were_ free; the essay wasn’t due for another couple days and you only had a morning class today. But you still wonder why he wouldn’t just text whatever he wanted to say. Damian’s “communication is key” advice rings in your mind. A conversation would be ideal; Five’s actions weren’t all that easy to read.

An idea strikes. Would he want to come over?

It was the mid-afternoon, the sun not even close to setting. He’s your destined soulmate, and since he was a superhero not too long ago, you don’t feel unsafe. Sophia would still be around, just a quick shout away. You weren’t dressed badly, just an oversized t-shirt tucked into pyjama shorts. There wasn’t a need to dress up – if you were to truly spend the rest of your life with Five, he should get used to your loungewear anyway. If anything, this was a good way for the two of you to bond as well as converse. If he declined, well, you would respect that.

**(you)** : would you mayyybe wanna come over?? ofc only if you want to !

we could talk better in person that way?

You cringe a little, but you struggle to hide your excitement. There was no anger regarding the incident that happened on Monday; confusion was all that was left, and you’re sure it’s nothing a little explanation couldn’t smooth over. Followed by a nice film. And some popcorn. And—

**(five)** : are you sure?

 **(you)** : yeah, as long as you want to, i’d prefer to speak face-to-face

**_five is typing..._ **

**(five)** : okay

what’s your address?

Warmth spreads in your chest. Quickly you send him your address, fingers giddily tapping across the screen. Your face feels awfully lot like the surface of the sun despite the star currently residing behind thick clouds outside. He texts back that he’ll be there in under an hour, along with a ‘:)’. No actual emoji. Somehow, you weren’t surprised. A soft nuzzle of your hand, courtesy of Lola, interrupts your thoughts. A hum escapes your mouth as she head-butts your palm.

A thought strikes. The apartment wasn’t exactly the epitome of cleanliness right now. You’d have to pick up the dirty clothes that narrowly missed the laundry basket, as well as throw away the several wrappers of the BBQ corn nuts you consume whenever an important deadline approaches. Soon you spend the next hour milling around the apartment, disposing of all the trash, dirty clothes and other stray items you come across. After informing Sophia that you were expecting someone, you opt for a brisk shower.

By the time you’re done, you crash onto your bed, phone nestled in your hand. Your heart unexpectedly sinks seeing there isn’t a new text from Five. Lola comes to your rescue, curled up in your lap. A brush and a blow-dry later, your hair looks much more presentable and you slip into something more comfortable. Boredom now creeps in. You have a lollipop resting in your mouth, the sour strawberry providing some distraction. It’s no use overthinking again, but it would be nice if Five could use that teleportation power you read about. That was something else on your mind – how would he bring up the Umbrella Academy? You, respectfully, wouldn’t mention it unless he did, but despite the academy making countless public appearances, they were very reserved about their private life.

There’s a ring of the doorbell that makes your heart both jump and skip a beat. Your entire system jumpstarts as you rush to the front door. “Coming!” you call.

You swing the door open, revealing a startled Five. You don’t miss how his eyes dart to your bare wrist, his name in clear view. You don’t want to admit it, but he’s every ounce as pretty as he was on Monday. Dark hair is still combed but one lock rests on his forehead. His complexion is smooth and light, exactly like the milky coffee you imagined earlier. There’s no hint of colour on his cheeks, despite the fact you could put a glass of juice outside right now and come back to a slushie a few hours later. Much to your weakness, his eyes are as inquisitive and verdant as you remember. Did his eyelashes grow longer? He’s wearing another baggy sweater, tucked into black pants and adorned with a silver belt. God, even his fashion sense hits different.

Stuck on a greeting, your mouth hangs slightly open. Eventually you force something out.

“Hi.”

A little nod. “Hey.”

The way he maintains eye contact so calmly stuns you. You blink yourself out of your trance and step to the side. “Come in.”

Five steps inside, hands still stuffed inside his jacket’s pockets. His eyes flit around the apartment like an animal with new surroundings, probably trying to deduce your personality. Sophia and you didn’t do much in terms of decorating, but there were a few paintings on the walls and scented candles resting on top of tables and countertops. The apartment was practically an oven compared to the weather outside, but he remains donned in his thick jacket.

“Do you want anything?” You ask airily, the two of you now residing in the kitchen. You lean on the kitchen table, but he’s rigid in the doorway.

“Coffee, please.”

Nodding, you rummage through the cupboards for a mug. Sophia drinks far more deadly caffeine than you do, and the machine she uses usually has a whole jug brewed at all times. Detaching the pitcher, you then pour it out. Right when you head to the fridge for milk, Five speaks up. “Black.”

You raise your eyebrows, but cooperate, filling the mug and handing it to him. He replies with a tight-lipped smile, already bringing the hot liquid to his lips. The atmosphere becomes a little awkward. Occupying yourself, you begin making yourself a mug of tea, the scent of coffee in the room now overpowering.

Five clears his throat, capturing your attention from the kettle. “I, uh, wanted to apologise for earlier this week.”

Silence. You slowly look up at him. He takes this as a sign to continue.

“I freaked out and ran off. Which is unfair to you since you didn’t do anything wrong.” He paces himself, speaking as carefully as he could. His mug of coffee is set aside for a moment. “I’ve seen a lot of soulmate . . . _mishaps_ with the people I know. Almost all my family have horror stories. I spent so much time on my own and . . .”

Now your eyes are fully focused on his face. His eyebrows are furrowed and a frown crumples his features. He’s clearly deep in thought.

“I’m not good with people, nor am I very social. I was intimidated by the idea of spending eternity, basically, with—”

“Me?”

He halts mid-sentence. There’s something in his eyes you don’t recognise, and you look forward to the day you understand him better, when he becomes an open book. Right now, however, he’s written in a language you’ve never learned, his pages bound shut.

“I didn’t mean it like that. M-maybe you didn’t understand.” Somehow his eyebrows furrow further and his posture is bone straight. He seems to be pensive, trying to articulate himself. Your gaze softens; he’s trying his best.

As gently as you can, you take his hand. He freezes, short-circuiting. In the other hand, you grab his coffee. You lead him out of the kitchen, down the hall and into your bedroom. Surprisingly, he doesn’t resist. Lola’s eyes peek open, then she rises from her sleeping position noticing the new person. You sit on the edge of your bed, then shuffle down, crossing your legs. Five gingerly follows suit, sitting a little distance opposite from you. Lola immediately hops onto her rightful throne (your lap), her eyes trained onto him.

“Then please help me to understand.”

You urge him with your eyes now. He seems like a cornered lamb, eerily aware of his incoming bleak fate. A storm now brews in his eyes, gathering intensity, and he suddenly avoids your gaze. You want to tell him that it’s okay, you’ll listen no matter what, you’ll be as empathetic as he needs — until he clears his throat. His story rushes along, like the raindrops sliding down the glass window that, when you were a kid, you would imagine them racing each other. Each event came down like rivulets of water, some sour like acid rain, some softer like a gentle drizzle. Stories of time travel, a barren apocalypse, assassinating blips in the timeline, a plastic mannequin bearing your name (which you blush profusely upon hearing). Your heart aches for him; all those years alone and barely hitting puberty.

As promised, you listen intently, nodding here and there, asking an occasional question to clarify something. He stumbles several times, pausing and scrambling for a way to transfer the angry storm in his head into speech. At some point Lola pads over to him, head resting on his thigh. This renders him a stuttering mess. Lola gazes up at him, as if to ask why he stopped. Tentatively, he reaches his hand out to her, coming to rest on her head. She happily obliges, nuzzling her nose against his palm. One corner of Five’s lips tugs upward, a chuckle escaping him and he picks up where he left off.

Despite being aware of Five’s teleportation, his new story leaves you at a blank. He explained how since he could travel through space, he managed to travel through time, which made enough sense to your brain which was barely competent in physics. You didn’t have to worry all that much, though, because the story then flows to his own family. He doesn’t venture into details, but tells how his sister manipulated someone else into being her soulmate, then his other sister was manipulated by someone else who wasn’t her soulmate. One of his brothers accidentally time travelled to the Vietnam War, fell in love with their soulmate then lost them in the heated mist of battle. It’s almost painful to hear; you feel ashamed for ever complaining about your soulmate.

At the end of it all, Five feels he resembles more of an open nerve, raw and exposed, than a human. His throat stings from talking so much, at which point he notices his coffee still in your hands. Your face is a sight to behold — your eyes are pools of wondrous awe, eyebrows slightly furrowed, mouth open a little. Whether you realise it or not, you’re leaning forward, decreasing the distance between the two of you even more, and Five finds himself admitting he wants the distance to disappear altogether.

Your own mind rages with a similar storm. No wonder he couldn’t stay with you back at the library. In his mind, he walked out before you could.

“I’m sorry.” is all you can say.

There’s that indecipherable emotion in his eyes again.

“You stopped the end of the world.” Marvelling at him is all you can manage. “To save your family, and . . .”

“You.” He finishes, bottle-green eyes boring straight into yours.

He has now rendered you speechless, his word striking right into your heart. Instead of replying, you hand him his coffee, to which he chuckles. He looks so breathtaking when he smiles — you make a mental note to be the reason he smiles for the rest of his life.

Lola purrs like a fiend as Five continues to pet her, and the scene fills your heart with pure, unadulterated love.

For the rest of the day, that feeling doesn’t budge.

The following hours are spent in pure bliss. You insist on him staying for the rest of the day, and he agrees as long as you supply him with more coffee. For once thankful for your roommate’s caffeine addiction, you provide. Countless bowls of popcorn later, the two of you are nestled in your bed, a random Netflix film dancing on your laptop’s screen. You picked something you’d seen before, knowing you wouldn’t be able to concentrate with your (very beautiful) soulmate sitting right next to you. Granted Lola planted herself between the two of you, if he moved ever so slightly your shoulders would brush against each other and electricity would shoot straight to your brain.

You clear your throat. Five, seemingly infatuated with the film, barely glances at you.

“Your handwriting’s terrible.”

He clearly heard that, as he whirls around and emits the most entrancing sound you’ve ever heard. He laughs. As he does so, you bring your wrist up, staring at said handwriting.

“Good thing I’ve stared at this for so long, otherwise I never would have figured out what it said.” You say, tone humorous. Both of your eyes fall on his name on your wrist, the black ink almost flashing.

“You really look at it a lot?” He queries ever so softly.

His tone has you floored, and the look in his eyes when you make eye contact is even more heart-wrenching. The purest form of childlike wonder is crystal clear. Either Five is letting you in, or you’re starting to read his pages better. Regardless, you’re so close and his iridescent eyes are so bright, you swear you can see flecks of emerald in them. There’s nothing more you want other than to bathe in the warmth he’s radiating right now. It’s as if he’s the sun, but strangely enough, you’re not getting burned. You suddenly understand why Icarus flew so close to it.

All too soon, his eyes break from yours to your wrist. Ever so gently, his fingers ghost the lettering. His touch is lighter than a feather, as if scared to press too hard on your skin. His thumb follows suit, tracing his name. The film drones on in the background. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen anyone quite as invested in seeing their own name before. It’s at this point you decide that no, Five Hargreeves isn’t the sun. He’s much too reserved to aggressively shine in people’s faces all day. Five is the moon — he’s far more attuned to soft moonlight than harsh sunlight. No need for sunscreen around him.

This moment is so pure and innocent you’re not sure how to proceed. Such a profound sensation of love was foreign to you, save the times Lola would willingly place her paw in your hand. Five is staring at your wrist like a kid in a candy store and you find yourself wondering if he ever stared at his mannequin in the same way. She (or you?) liked sequins. His story still left you awestruck, though. The same man who emotionlessly assassinated anyone who threatened the timeline, also manipulated the same timeline in order to save you. The same man also ran away from you at first sight, but then acquired your number and sent a text. The same man agreed to come over to your apartment. The same man was clutching your wrist like a newborn with a feathery touch.

Good thing you not only saw the text, but also replied. You wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

Luckily, you didn’t have to. The movie was finished and soon ‘The Office’ started playing. By the third episode, the two of you are directly leaning on each other, albeit Lola is settled in Five’s lap like the traitor she is. Conversation easily flows from here.

You had no clue sighs could sound as dreamy as the one Five just let out. “I love your cat.”

No sooner than he finishes his sentence, Lola’s purring loudens tenfold.

“Her name’s Lola.” You inform him, sticking your tongue out at the furry criminal.

Five’s hand rests on her back, and Lola couldn’t be happier. His hand then drifts to her neck, where her shiny collar is adorned. It’s really only for decoration since she’s already microchipped; you just enjoy her looking like a typical housecat. He toys with the collar, scanning the silver nametag inscribed with her name.

“How did you come up with it?” He wonders aloud.

You shrug. Time for your inner literature nerd to jump out. “Lola is a short form of the Spanish name Delores,” — Five’s eyebrow notably shoots up at that — “and it’s also Persian for ‘tulip’.” When you look up from Lola, you’re met with another unfathomable expression on Five’s face. You cough, suddenly feeling scrutinised. “And, uh . . . there was a Lola in one of my favourite childhood TV shows.”

“Which was?” He probes, playfully curious.

“‘Charlie and Lola’.” You scrunch your nose. That’s normal, right? People name their pets after whatever. Before you adopted her, Lola was called Cookie, which was cute, you supposed, but you wanted to make her a little more human. Tragic on your part, yes, but it had a more interesting backstory than just a foodie name.

Another chuckle escapes Five, but with no hint of malice. It’s so cute you resist the urge to swoon. He looks up from Lola, locking eyes with you. Damn, his eye contact is intense.

“I like it.”

The simplicity of it results in your heart skipping a beat. There’s no stopping the smile that spreads on your face in response. Five seems to like a lot of things, actually, because he also compliments your knife earrings. It’s reassuring, knowing that your fashion sense intrigues rather than scares him. This inevitably leads to you gushing about this online store where you get all your jewellery from, and how the knife earrings were on sale and came with a pack of knife chokers, and there was this really cute silver chain you wanted to buy as well, and you just ordered a skull ring—

“Sorry, am I rambling?” You grimace. You tend to do that.

Five adamantly shakes his head. His attention is invested in you, as his figure isn’t even facing the laptop anymore. Lola is snuggled deep in his arms, and he’s rhythmically running his hand down her back. “I think it’s really cool. My brother Klaus told me to buy jewellery like that to ‘ _complete my transformation_ ’, as he put it.” It’s obviously a fond memory, judging by his crinkling eyes. “I didn’t think they would suit me. They really suit you, though.”

Okay now, it must be illegal for him to make your heart jump this much. You are going to enter cardiac arrest if Five keeps this up. Your face grows searing hot.

“Thank you.”

Your eyes flicker to your laptop screen, The Office still playing, Michael Scott once again staring into your soul.

“I, uh, noticed you type in all lower case. How’s your emo phase going?” Something to stop Five from stealing your heart already.

Five explodes into a sound halfway between a snort and laughter. “Once again, it was Klaus. I accidentally left my phone with him once, and when I got it back my keyboard was all lower case and my lockscreen was him and his Dave. Also, every time I typed ‘Klaus’ it would autocorrect to ‘my favourite brother’.”

“Is he?”

Five pauses, looking right through you. Then his countenance resembles that of a kid that just got caught sticking his hand in the cookie jar. Now, it’s his turn for a soft pink to creep onto his cheeks. “Don’t tell him that.”

You’re chuckling back, not expecting that response. This ‘Klaus’ brother sounds like the class clown, and you’d love to meet him. If memory serves right, he was the lanky boy that would lean his arm on Five’s shoulder in all their Umbrella Academy pictures together. His lopsided grin is firm in your memory, and you wonder what it would look like in person. According to Five, he lived with his soulmate, Dave, an hour’s drive from Five’s place. His other brothers were scattered throughout the state, but he really only saw Ben and Klaus on a regular basis. It induces a sharp pain in your chest as you wish your family were in such close reach. However, Five’s smile, you’re sure, could assuage any negative emotion.

It comes as no surprise that you and Five hung out afterwards. He assured you he had a lot of fun, and it was barely a day later that he visits you during your working hours at the library. Damian’s knowing grin reveals all, and you make a note to thank him later. Five mostly just shares heart-warming smiles at you whilst you fulfil your work duties around the library. When he comes up to the front desk to return his books, a smirk on his lips, you’re enthralled.

“I’d like to return these, please.” As polite as ever, he drops the books in front of you.

No sooner than you begin to check the books in, Five makes another query.

“Do you know where the next book in this series is?” His smirk is so wide it seems to be splitting his face.

You can’t help the dumbfounded grin that stretches yours.

A week later the two of you are stargazing and, despite you insisting you can drive him to the field he’s raging about, he insists even more that teleportation is more efficient. He quells your worries, assuring you that after he travelled to the end of the world, he could travel ten or so miles with you in tow. You push aside your apprehension, though, and allow him to transport the two of you to his stargazing spot. The entire experience felt like a plunge in icy cold water, each of your limbs numbing for the briefest of moments before your feet are once again planted on solid ground.

The face you give Five afterwards causes a hearty laugh to erupt from him, dragging you across the field by the hand. Eyes wide and face pale, you weakly follow. He promises he won’t keep you out for too long, but the way his eyes gleam when he spoke so fondly of this area, you wouldn’t mind staying until the early hours of the morning.

You unceremoniously lie down next to Five in the grass, your back immediately feeling the cold even through your jacket. The moonlight bathes the two of you in a soft, silvery glow, and Five’s eyelashes become long icicles. His eyes are somehow more piercing than usual, so when he turns to meet your gaze you’re entranced. There’s something so profound in this moment, looking into the inquisitive eyes of your soulmate, seated underneath a canopy of stars. A breeze drifts through the air, pulling down a lock of Five’s hair with it.

“Penny for your thoughts, good sir?” You ask, ever so softly.

An even softer chuckle sounds from Five, and the corner of his lips curve upward. “Ben and I used to come out here all the time when we were younger.” His wistful reminisces are always fun, so you figure you should get comfortable.

“Ben was . . . soft tentacle bookworm, right?”

Another laugh rings in the air, just like the feeling of affection in your chest. Every moment of yearning for your soulmate was worth it to hear his ethereal sound of happiness every minute for the rest of your life.

He nods in confirmation before continuing. “Yeah, he loved— I mean, _loves_ books. I preferred Oscar Wilde while he liked Charles Dickens. Our dad’s library sometimes didn’t have what he wanted, so I would steal books from the local library for him.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “As a library worker, I don’t condone those actions—”

He snorts, nudging your shoulder with his. “He had the same reaction.” He goes quiet, and you curiously look over to see his eyes glossy with nostalgia. “But then I’d find him a few hours later, curled up in a corner, completely engrossed in the book.”

Pulling off your library worker goggles, you envision an adolescent Five picking out a Victorian novel for his brother. His fingers brushing against each cover, intricate universes just underneath his fingertips. He’d finally pick something out, and flash right out of there. He would brandish his present to a startled Ben, who would quickly scold him but take the book nonetheless. Scrambling for some free time without the dark gloom of Reginald towering over them, Ben would nestle himself on a couch in the living room, practically becoming one with the book. His eyes scanning each word, his mind manifesting the complex story before him. None the wiser, Five would stumble upon his focused brother, and he would probably settle down next to him, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ cracked open in his hand. No pesky siblings, robotic mothers, genetically engineered monkeys or deranged old men with God complexes in sight. Their corner of the world was quiet. They would bask in their moment for hours more.

“For the record,” you blink yourself out of your reverie, Five’s voice tugging you back into the present. “he insisted I return the books after he finished them.”

Your heart suddenly feels like a cloud, soft and fragile.

“I’ll let that one slide.”

He soon points out a constellation, and he’s listing off something about stars and lightyears but all you hear is the mellow tone of his voice, almost like he was reading you to sleep. You try seeing whatever he sees, but it’s all just bright twinkles to you. Living in the suburbs meant that you saw the stars better than you did in the inner city, but only slightly. Astronomy wasn’t your thing so you weren’t familiar with the shapes those bright balls of gas would create. Five, however, seems well-versed, as he leans closer to you, his voice that much higher in volume next to your ear.

This time traveller was going to be the death of you.

Stargazing rapidly morphed into baking dates, the two of you dusted in flour and the cookies cosy in the oven. Jokes and giggles are exchanged in between chocolate chips and sugar. Once the cookies pop out the oven, the chocolate melts on your tongue almost as quickly as his name does.

You love Five’s pools of bright green so much, you never imagined you would love them closed as he slumbered. You had recommended binging Studio Ghibli films after he revealed he never saw them as a kid, and you instantly invited him over with a “we have a _lot_ of art to catch up on, Hargreeves”. Haku is comforting a crying Chihiro on your laptop screen, and Five’s head is resting on your shoulder. Aside from your internal screaming, you’re focused on the film. At some point, your shoulder felt a little heavy, and Five’s breathing has deepened. There’s no response when you shift your shoulder, and when you fully withdraw yourself, you watch Five’s head fall into your lap limply. Shockingly, he doesn’t stir.

Peering at his face, he seems to be out cold. A tap of his nose confirms your theory, accompanied by the cutest scrunch of his nose. He reminds you of a baby rabbit, all soft peaceful like this. The resting scowl normally marring his face has dissolved completely and now you have a furry baby animal in your lap. His combed hair is mussed, and you can’t resist petting him. You almost squeal how it’s even silkier than you thought, and before you know it you massaging his scalp, fingers running through his dark tresses. To your delight, he seems to relax to your touch.

Once again, this boy has you completely whipped. And Hayao Miyazaki as your witness, you couldn’t be happier.

Valentine’s Day rolls around, and with it comes Damian pestering you and Five to go on that double date. Five simply said he’d be happy to go if you wanted to, adding that you two didn’t have any plans other than a late morning laced with coffee anyway. What was a casual agreement transformed into an exasperated Five, seated between your legs, his face firmly planted in your hands. The proximity means you have an even better view of his eyes, which you will probably never stop ogling over.

“You have beautiful cheekbones.” You breathe out, using a thin makeup brush to stipple fake freckles on his cute-ass face.

There’s that furrowing of his eyebrows again. Smirking, you tap his nose and feel a swell of pride as pink rushes into his cheeks. You take care to blend out the muted brown spots so they resemble constellations sprinkled across his face.

Five isn’t sure how he allowed you to place makeup anywhere near his face, but he was a fool to deny your puppy expression. As you tap your finger across the freshly dotted freckles, he internally admits how soothing it feels. After you applied a face mask together and you begged him to let you use your moisturiser on his face, you promised you wouldn’t apply anything else other than the fake freckles. It transports him back to the academy – Klaus had the faintest of freckles sprayed across his face, and they would especially bloom like little flowers during the summer months. In the old timeline, they faded as he grew older and discarded proper self-care. Now, however, they were far more prominent and Dave complimented them more than once.

“There!” A triumphant grin breaks out across your face as you marvel at your masterpiece. Five had such nice skin, he didn’t need anything other than a little moisturiser, and the freckles seem to blend in seamlessly.

Five blinks in response. _Curse his long eyelashes_. Wasn’t he pretty enough?

You had also hooked a necklace around his neck, despite his protests. Well, it was more of a chain, but it suited his simpler outfit of a white turtleneck tucked into darker dress pants, along with that iconic silver belt. Although he immediately refused the suspenders you initially brandished, he stilled looked like the epitome of an intellectual private school boy who would recite Shakespeare whilst treating your heart like a playtoy.

And you loved it.

Wanting him to share your awe, you pull out your front camera, and Five’s pupils dilate as he stares at himself. He turns his head to the side. Then the other side. This strikes a chord within — Lola acts the same exact way whenever she glimpses her own reflection. Like father like kitty, you suppose. No inhibitions whatsoever, you pose right next to Five’s surprised countenance, lips firmly planted on his freckled cheek. The camera clicks before Five can pull away, but once your kiss remains steadfast even after the photo is taken, he doesn’t. He can’t bring himself to.

Alas, all good things to come an end, Five realises, as you pull away and examine the picture. Your eyes are wide and sparkling; he didn’t know eyes could do that. If only you placed your kiss a little closer to his lips . . .

“You have such nice skin!” You mutter. Your fingers zoom in on the constellations you littered on his face, observing how his skin is almost glowing underneath. Five could have cried from your endless compliments alone, until you open your mouth once again.

“I want it.”

Five thinks he’s just witnessed your transformation into Mr. Hyde, as your eyes train on his face once more. The incredulous expression quickly sets you off into a fit of giggles, leaving him awestruck once more. Your forehead comes to rest on his shoulder, your laughing still not ceasing.

“Please don’t take my skin.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

You don’t hesitate to playfully push him a little. “Don’t worry, I won’t pull an Ed Gein on you.” You wink, once again sending Five’s pulse into overdrive.

“ _Yet_.”

He always prided himself on his witty remarks — living with Klaus meant you had to have a smart response lined up before he even finished his jab. However, Five finds himself at a loss for words. He doesn’t even bother asking who you just mentioned. He dumbly blinks at you, and prays to any higher power that you don’t notice the shivers you just gave him.

Thankfully, you’ve turned away from him, scrunching your hair and giving yourself a once-over. You conclude that yours and Five’s beauty couldn’t be wasted for any longer, so you grasp a bewildered Five’s hand and make for your car. As you lead him away, he pouts upon spotting a napping Lola on the living room couch. No worries, he’d say hi to her once you guys got back.

Damian texted you the address of a well-reviewed Persian restaurant a half-hour’s drive away. Save for the soft indie song playing, the car ride is quiet. A quick glance at Five reveals his nerves; his eyebrows are doing the _thing_ again. You were slowly learning Five’s language, and upon consulting your mental dictionary, he seems nervous.

“How are you feeling?” Turning a corner, you ask quietly.

Five rapidly blinks, eyes refocusing on you. He clears his throat, your words just no registering in his head. “Uh, fine.”

He tries convincing himself this is just another date between the two of you; just with another couple. Not to mention, one of them was not only very trusted by you, but was also his key to reaching out to you. Once again, Five finds himself cursing his father for not training him how to ease the butterflies in his stomach. He wants to go; of course he does, any excuse to see your smiling face is welcome. He wouldn’t agree if he didn’t. However, this is a situation he highly feared — his decades spent without any other human would become very apparent. You’re so friendly compared to him, he’s convinced everyone who meets you must fall head-over-heels in love. You always knew what to say, reminding him of Grace, who always knew where he or his siblings were hurting.

Even now, you radiate such a calming aura. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll have fun.”

Despite his inner turmoil, you ended up being correct. As soon as you spot Damian at the table, you greet him with a laugh along with his soulmate. She’s just as friendly with Five as she was with you, a “nice to meet you, Five!” slipping past her smiling lips. The two of you sit down opposite them, menus already spread on the table. Without hesitation you launch into conversation with Damian. As you speak, Five can’t help but observe him and Stella. She’s listening just as attentively as Damian is, her arm linked with his. Her hair is a long mane of tight coils, pinned back by a glittery hairclip, and Five notes how Damian absentmindedly twirls a strand around his finger. This exposes his wrist, along with Stella’s name written in loopy lettering. They seem so comfortable with each other. Five is a few feet opposite them and he still senses the crackling chemistry. Five can’t stop the intrusive thought asking if they sense the same thing from you and him.

The conversation is a story he’s faintly familiar with. You’re complaining about rowdy high school kids at the library, pinpointing the usual perpetrators. You gave him the exact rant on the phone yesterday. He dutifully listened while writing his own research notes.

Animated as you are, Five’s attention isn’t just on your voice. His eyes wander over your face, the way the softer lighting illuminates you in a golden glow. Your bangs are neatly combed, falling just above your eyelashes, and you occasionally fiddle with them while you speak. He finds himself entranced with your highlight almost blinding him, and the sheer gloss on your lips. Today, you opted for simpler earrings, shaped like a crescent moon. Your talking ceases for a moment, and now you’re the one raptly listening to Damian. Five doesn’t realise how hard he’s staring until you’re staring back.

“That sounds horrible! Right, Five?”

He hurriedly nods, and you seem satisfied as you turn back to Damian. Five is acutely aware of your shoulder touching his, and wants to laugh at himself for rejoicing so much at that. He almost couldn’t recognise himself when he was around you, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Whatever cool front he erected would always crumble in your presence. You simultaneously gave him butterflies and warmth, and every smile you sent his way restarted his pulse.

Soon, the actual food is being ordered. You pick out kebab and saffron rice, prompting Five to frantically check the menu. Only to realise, he can’t read a thing. It’s all in Persian. You come to his rescue though, warm smile adorned on your face. You flip the menu around. “The English is on the back.”

He will never stop marvelling at how easy it is for you. You somehow shift everything back into focus, as if adjusting the lens on a microscope. Despite now being able to actually read the menu, he just picks the first thing that vaguely describes chicken, and orders the same side of rice as you.

The conversation comes back in full swing, Stella now sharing a story. He isn’t fully paying attention to her, as you inevitably grab his focus once more. He glances down at your hand that’s resting on the table, the skull ring you gushed about snugly on your middle finger. Gingerly, his hand creeps up from his side onto the table, slowly edging towards yours. By the time his hand is resting on yours, you rotate your palm to face his, threading your fingers together. All within seconds.

The wind is knocked right out of Five. Blood rushes directly to his face and he’s certain it’s visible too. His body is set aflame and you only add fuel to the fire by gently rubbing circles on the back of his hand with your thumb. That’s not even the worst of it — somehow you’re still absorbed in the conversation at hand, not even flinching. He wonders if you know that you both relaxed and enlivened him just now. An electric shock goes straight to his heart with each of your movements.

If this was how he would always feel around you, Five was both terrified and excited. He observes how everything is so two-sided with you. It’s a feeling akin to finally reaching the answer to a particularly tricky math problem, or comprehending a new concept in theoretical physics. You were like the soft gauze Grace would wrap around a particularly nasty wound after a mission. The fact that you tried to include him without making him the least bit uncomfortable was so endearing. There’s so much comfort you managed to channel in just one gesture.

The food soon arrives, in steaming hot platters that make Five realise he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Admittedly, it tastes incredible, an explosion of flavours in his mouth. What amazes him more, though, is the fact you still hadn’t pulled your hand out of his grasp. It had found its home in his, and you hadn’t even moved it, even after digging in to your food. His heart grows so full, he’s sure it’s going to burst.

As Five is seated right next to his soulmate in the middle of a cultural restaurant during Valentine’s Day, with her hand clutched in his, he suddenly understands what those pretentious poets were raving about in Ben’s books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was so long aHA i'm pooped, here is the pure fluff i promised (o´ω`o)ﾉ
> 
> i think my teachers are out for my blood bc they haven't ceased with all this damn work, i wanna CRY
> 
> also eid mubarak to any muslims reading! i know ramadan was very odd this year due to lockdown, but i hope you all had a blessed month nonetheless <3
> 
> i wrote this while mostly listening to still woozy, who is not only one of my fav artists but influenced how tooth-rotting sweet this became sfdskjfhskdjf i hope you all enjoyed!!


	5. do you remember when we felt like the only two alive?

_“I’m moving out.”_

_Vanya whispers into the space between them as her and Five are leaned against her bedframe. She hinted at wanting to talk to him during dinner an hour ago, and he swore this was no different to their relationship in the first timeline. Save for the peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches. Similarly to the last timeline, most of them moved out at around eighteen. Now, in this new timeline, there was little difference save for Luther now heavily considering leaving as well. Allison and Diego left a year earlier at the same time, and Klaus and Ben briefly lived together not too long after. Trying to prevent their old mistakes and fixing the timeline was tough, but it was a definite that it also included leaving the place armed with so much pain and trauma._

_Naturally Vanya wanted to fly the nest as well._

_Truth be told, she felt so much more at home in the Academy now. Vanya was no longer the seventh wheel, and she became more of a sister to them than the liability Reginald convinced her she was. All their relationships collectively improved so much, and Five glowed with pride knowing he contributed to that. Everyone left the house on the best of terms._

_Now it was only him, Vanya and Luther left. Luther was his own bundle of uncertainty and insecurity, but Five and Vanya remained the idyllic duo they always were. She confided in him that she auditioned for that orchestra she had been raving about, and went apartment hunting. She then whispered that she got that apartment, and the woman already living there was looking for a roommate anyway. All that was left was packing her things and going; nothing stopped her._

_Five cracks a rare smile._

_“I’m so happy for you.”_

_He then reveals he was accepted into an Ivy League university out east, naturally majoring in quantum physics and minoring in cosmology and relativity. That kind of went over Vanya’s unscientific head, but she nods enthusiastically nonetheless. She insists she’ll visit him, and hopes he’ll find his soulmate out there. They scrawl their addresses onto pieces of paper, before they enter a comfortable silence, dumbly smiling at each other._

_Vanya had always been under the grip of anxiety, and unfortunately it hadn’t loosened in the new timeline. She still sometimes overthought things, convincing herself of every worst case scenario. Her nerves take over the quiet moment. “What would Dad think?”_

_Five is quick to dispel her intrusive thoughts. “Who cares? You’re pursuing your own happiness, and at eighteen, we all have a right to.” He gives her a pointed look. “He has no power over us anymore.”_

_Biting her lip, Vanya crosses her legs. Legally, she’s an adult, but mentally she’s the scared eight-year-old sleeping in Five’s bed because she can’t bear her own thoughts at night. “He’ll be alone once we all leave. We are still his kids.”_

_Five snorts. “I highly doubt he sees us like that.”_

_What a weird collection of ‘kids’ they were; in superhero costumes, numbered instead of named._

_“And, if he dies? Like last time?” Her dark eyes are wide, pitch-black pupils against the deepest sepia. “What will we do then? Grace and Pogo will be even more alone, and would there even be a funeral—”_

_“Vanya!” Her wrists are grasped in his hands, thin and ghostly pale. Her uncut bangs curtain her face, contrast to how she’s began pinning them back recently. “You aren’t responsible for anyone’s feelings.” He sounds out slowly, maintaining perfect eye contact. “Regardless of whatever happens to Dad . . . you still have the rest of us. Look at how much happier we all were compared to before.”_

_The world is no longer collapsing around Vanya. She’s no longer locked in a soundproof basement, haunted by ghosts of the past. She’s no longer a burden, or even ‘just normal’ — she never was. The threads of fate were rewoven for Vanya, and the tapestry of her life lay before her. All she had to do was reach out._

_A shy smile brightens up her face._

_Five still doesn’t relent. “There’s an entire world beyond these four walls. Believe me, I’ve seen it. And Dad has no control over it.”_

_Vanya visibly relaxes, her taut muscles loosening. Her breathing steadies, and she blinks slowly. It’s as if Five is coming back into focus. A weight lifts from her chest._

_“Do you think, after we’ve all moved out, gotten successful, made a life for ourselves,” she begins slowly. “we would all meet up again, along with our soulmates?”_

_The voice is overflowing with hope. And it’s so raw and pure Five can’t resist succumbing to it._

_“I promise.”_

* * *

Five couldn’t have foretold the circumstances preceding making good on that promise.

At first it was like every other sleepy morning. He had slept over at your apartment, which had practically become his second home. There was a time where he persisted to himself that it was because he loved coddling Lola, but your head nestled in his lap and a book in his hand was by far the superior feeling that brought him back every other night. He was actually starting to befriend your roommate, complimenting her coffee brewing skills. This was the same bitter cup he was happily lapping up whilst he read the newspaper. You still hadn’t awoken, groggily grumbling “it’s my day off” before burying yourself back under the covers.

You hadn’t come down with him, but Lola, ever loyal, perched herself on the kitchen table, her eyes lazily blinking. Five still wonders how Klaus ever compared him to a dog — he felt more of a kinship with your fluffy cat than whatever breed it was his brother suggested.

Five’s eyes were quickly skimming over the newest headlines, analysing foreign politics and some scientist’s new theory. After he graduated with his master’s degree, his university offered him a job in their physics research facility, and the professor that once led most of his lectures was now adamant in Five accepting the job. Ever productive, he agreed. That’s where he spent the better half of the week, and almost any free time he had was passed either in your kitchen or in your bed. Despite him growing so comfortable with you, he still couldn’t shake the surreal feeling plaguing him. Life had been a tumultuous rollercoaster with the most furious of storms raging in the background, whilst you had been a tranquil log ride underneath the setting sun. Five was accustomed to his time travelling malfunctioning on him, so the fact this timeline went so smoothly was concerning, to say the least. Even subconsciously he anticipated something going gravely wrong. He didn’t let his mind venture further on that thought.

His phone, however, doesn’t hold back.

He was never very tech-savvy (probably due to his Klaus-declared ‘ _boomer_ ’ status) but he managed to stay on top of his digital communications. The black device rhythmically vibrates, and he tears his eyes from the newspaper to see the caller ID, only to have his pulse almost collapse.

The voice that follows after he accepts the call doesn’t improve it.

“Hello, Master Five.”

Abrupt flashbacks clog Five’s throat, and his breath halts. Thirteen-year-old Klaus suddenly clouds his vision, sunken eyes and ashen complexion, looking just minutes away from residing in a coffin. Empty reassurances break through his cracked lips, brushing off all their concerns. Thirteen-year-old Vanya etching the umbrella tattoo with a permanent marker, then hiding it from the rest of them lest they laugh at her. Thirteen-year-old Ben, drenched in blood, doubled over in agonising pain because his power is just as destructive to him as it is to the enemies. Then, suddenly, it’s Ben’s haphazard funeral. Luckily Five himself wasn’t present, but that didn’t mean the others didn’t relay the story during a sleepover in the new timeline. They’re all lined up in their itchy uniform, eyes boring into the coffin lowering into the ground. That wooden box contained Ben Hargreeves, they insisted, _not_ Number Six. The same Ben who was flourishing in university right now. The same Ben who didn’t have to brandish his power to please some elderly loner. The same Ben who was done with said elderly loner that only valued what he could offer, rather than who he was.

Well, apparently, the elderly loner wasn’t done with them yet.

“Hello, Pogo.”

Five isn’t sure where his voice just came from, but it emerges scratchy and hesitant.

Pogo clearly doesn’t have the same struggle. “Ah, it’s great to hear your voice. I trust you and your siblings are doing well. Grace and I miss you terribly; she sends her greetings, by the way.”

Scrambling for the right thing to say, Five sets down the newspaper. “I’ve been good, thank you. I, uh, hope you’re well too.”

“Forgive me, but we haven’t spoken in so long, and I . . .” There’s an audible pause, then a sigh. “The house has been so quiet. Especially now.”

Something ominous creeps up Five’s spine. Death was the one certainty in life, after all. Even though Five already has a strong hunch as to the answer, he queries anyway.

“Pogo, what do you mean?”

He imagines his wrinkled face crumpling in concern, leaning on his walking stick for extra support. Searching for an appropriate way to phrase what Five is certain is coming.

“Your father, Mr. Hargreeves.”

The world seems to slow down, as if deeply inhaling. Perhaps preparing to exhale the most powerful gale-force winds, throw everything out of balance once more. This was the exact moment that feeling creeping in the back of his mind warned him of. This chill doesn’t thaw from his bones even when you descend into the kitchen, sleep-ridden. You rub your bleary eyes, kissing Five on the forehead before fixing yourself some toast. He almost didn’t feel it, every cell in his body frozen with confusion, frustration and . . . he couldn’t articulate what.

An army of questions assault his mind, and he resists time travelling back to when his last major stress was calculating in the coefficient at the lab last week. Why did the old man choose to kick the bucket now? Did he not already make a show of himself in the last timeline? Granted the siblings went to every effort to ensure no one else except them knew they reversed time, it still would have meant their father wouldn’t have pulled the suicide act for another five years or so. Everything had been going so blissfully well for all of them. Or maybe, another voice taunts, their rose-tinted glasses were a little too strong. The bomb that set off the apocalypse was Vanya, but she was happily playing the violin in front chair, sharing an apartment with her newfound soulmate and little dog. Five’s train of thought is hurtling through the rocky terrain and thoughts dart past before he can even reflect on any.

“Are you okay?”

Once he blinks he realises how dry his eyes became. His vision refocuses on your tilted head, worry on your face. A quick glance at his phone reminds him of the awkward goodbye, and a potentially even more awkward funeral to follow. You slide a mug of steaming coffee his way, and he weakly smiles in thanks. He never thought the day would come where someone could read him like an open book. Yet there you stood.

For the second time that morning, Five’s voice emerges from a dark pit, barely alive. “I have to go back to the academy.”

His sharp eyes study each of your movements. You swallow your mouthful of toast and sip from a glass, eyes widening. “How come?”

Five likes to think he’s greatly improved his tact and capability in social situations. But he figures now is the time to be blunt.

“My dad died.”

Whatever you were drinking is set down on the table. Five watches as your teeth tug on your bottom lip. You’re rigid in your stance and you make no effort to speak. Slowly, your eyebrows furrow and you turn to fully face him. He searches your eyes for any insight on your thoughts but all he can find is surprise.

“I’m . . . sorry.”

Your voice doesn’t sound much better than his.

He wishes it could be easier than this; he could definitively hate Reginald and dismiss any further thoughts about the academy. The man saw all seven of them as super-powered heroes, not children that he was under the legal responsibility to care for and protect. He tried removing their soulmate tattoos but gave up once they reappeared and forbade them of thinking about life beyond that mansion’s four walls. The only thing him and his siblings had in common was an abusive and neglecting father. Sure, they had rebuilt their relationships but that rocky foundation hadn’t been fully broken down. A bunch of kids that emotionally attached to a robot mother were sure to end up a little troubled. Five had decades to process his own emotions compared to his siblings, and even then he didn’t bear the brunt of their father’s abuse. He shared Vanya’s and Klaus’ pain for two timelines now and it didn’t get any easier. Knowing the perpetrator of all that suffering is the same person who is meant to unconditionally love you just deepens the wound. As with any human relationship, Five has come to realise, it was complicated. He couldn’t outright hate the man; none of them could, not even Diego deep inside. Which is why he can’t ignore the gnawing feeling to attend the funeral.

“Will there be a funeral?”

Ah. You had the same thought.

Five nods. “Next week. Old man had so much in the bank he could up and die any time he liked,” he heaves a sigh, eyes now on his half-empty coffee mug. “I just wonder why he chose now.”

You gingerly move around the table to take a seat next to him, your own drink firmly in your hands. Once you’re situated on the chair, Five’s eyes are trained onto yours and he finally manages to recognise an emotion. Understanding. So much of it in fact he almost does a double take.

“Death is a weird thing. There’s no handbook in life telling us how to think or feel in situations like this,” you cautiously start. Five can almost hear the cogs turning in your head.

He feels warmth on his hand, and his face heats up seeing your hand is the cause of it. Your touch always halts his train of thought and now is no exception. Regardless, you continue.

“I know he wasn’t the ideal father figure, and I’m sorry you and your siblings went through so much. But I think it’s great you guys decided to heal from it and make better lives for yourselves. Technically you don’t owe him anything. However,” now both of your hands encase Five’s between them, and he swears you’re fully aware of its effect on him, “if you do choose to go to the funeral . . .”

A soft smile spreads on your face and Five’s certain his heart just stopped.

“I would come with you.”

A thought flashes in Five’s mind, wondering if you’re naturally so kind and empathetic or if it’s just your psychology degree. Either way, he’s in complete admiration that the universe gifted you to him as a soulmate.

* * *

The taxi ride to the academy is deadly quiet. Five leans against you, cheek nuzzled against your shoulder. The driver had turned on the radio at the start of the ride and upbeat music bounces throughout the car. You figure you may as well enjoy this quiet moment before a sombre funeral, so you pull out your phone. Before you unlock your phone, Five shifts.

“Am I really your lockscreen?” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Indeed he is.

It’s a picture of him during a coffee date that you discreetly snapped. He wouldn’t shut up about the café near his apartment so he jumped the two of you to the outdoor seating area. You ordered a basic creamy latte whilst he ordered the most pretentious black coffee that he sipped with so much ease you almost gagged. The sun was bestowing a golden glow on Five that day, lighting him up like a candle. His cheekbones radiated and his verdant eyes were illuminated almost pure white. He looked as if he just sauntered out of heaven so you couldn’t resist the photo. He was warmly smiling, his eyes focused on you. There was no way you could ever feel disheartened whenever you switched your phone on and saw that face.

“Of course you are. You’re so pretty,” you quietly say, head now leaning on his. Five says nothing but even a fool could feel the heat creeping up his neck.

Eventually the car stops outside, parking near a few others at the entrance of the mansion. The two of you tentatively clamber out. The house is so tall you lean back a little to peer up at it. Suddenly you feel very poor.

“Here we are.”

You can’t help but blow a low whistle. They grew up in a mansion _and_ had some robot mother cater to their every need? Guilt quickly brushes whatever that thought was growing into away.

Five snorts. “It’s uglier on the inside.”

You follow behind him as he walks up to the front door. Without hesitation he presses the doorbell. Glancing down at your clothes, you hope you’re not overdressed. A dark blue blouse tucked into black paper bag trousers seemed fitting enough — who has a funeral outfit all picked out and ready anyway? The gap between the doorbell ringing and the door finally opening was agonising.

There stands a bespectacled chimpanzee, smartly dressed. You nip your innate reaction in the bud before you physically splutter, but you’re certain surprise is evident on your face. Once he lays eyes on Five his expression softens. You almost forget he’s a primate. How much money did this Hargreeves guy really have?

Deepening your astonishment further, the primate speaks.

“Master Five. It’s lovely to see you.” He steps to the side, wooden cane tapping on the floor. The door widens further and Five steps through. You follow suit.

“Hello Pogo.”

Five gives him a curt nod, but you note the slight fondness in his tone. You almost jump when he places his hand on your forearm. “By the way, this is my soulmate.” He enunciates your name in such a way that weakens your knees. It seems to roll off his tongue, as if it was always meant to be there. Your eyes glance at your name on his wrist, which was literally meant to be there.

Several stories had been recounted to you by Five about the genetically engineered chimpanzee that acted as the butler in the mansion, but witnessing him in person is entirely a different experience. All the same, your manners don’t falter and you smile as wide as you can. To your surprise, he extends his hand to shake. Hesitantly, you reciprocate.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” he tests out your name and you happily nod when he pronounces it right, “welcome to the Umbrella Academy. I wish this could have been under more favourable circumstances, but it’s nice to see you nonetheless.”

You return the sentiment with an unrelenting smile. The thought of making small talk with an intellectual, functionally speaking monkey never even crossed your mind and the experience itself didn’t subdue the awe. A miracle of science was standing right before you and your inner scientist was fascinated. You don’t dwell on this, however, as Pogo informs Five where the funeral will happen and he is consequently led away. His hand clasps yours tightly the entire way, until you’re walking past the sophisticated living area. Abruptly stopping your movements results in Five whirling around, confusion marring his expression.

“What are you doing?”

Your sense of will almost falters.

Resolutely, you place your free hand over his and lock strong eye contact. A pure feeling of pride blossoms in your chest; Five is in the exact building he swore he wouldn’t set foot into again, facing the past that had been locked in the darkest corner of his mind. Now he has to fully unlock it, all on his own.

“I’ll wait here until the service is over,” you say.

His eyebrows rush together. “No, I want you to come with me—”

“I believe you’ll be able to do this on your own.”

A flurry of emotions swirls in those captivating eyes of his, and although you’re becoming more fluent in the enigmatic language that is Five Hargreeves, he’s still his own person. Visiting his childhood home rife with unpleasant memories and a neglectful father’s death was sure to take a toll on him, but this was his healing process. You would provide support every step of the way if he wanted, but ultimately this was his own struggle. Who were you to insert yourself in a family matter?

The way that Five’s looking at you, almost like a child on their first day of school, makes the pride in your chest multiply tenfold. As you let go of his hand and his feet reluctantly carry him away, you figure it’s time to let him start his first day.

You spend the next hour in the living area reading a book you grabbed from one of the copious amounts of bookshelves. It was a short novella but engaging nonetheless as you wait for Five. His siblings hadn’t made an appearance yet, and the mansion was eerily silent, so you figured reading would be the best pastime. You also guess you and Five were a little late, considering the other cars parked out front. There was also the strong urge to explore the entire academy in their absence, but your mother instilled better manners in you than that.

Sharp thumps disturb your reading, and you look up to see a sullen Five marching through the backdoor. As soon as he catches a glimpse of you, there’s a slight shift in his demeanour and he slows down. You place the book on the coffee table before rising to his level.

“How was it?” you gingerly begin, because what else is there to say?

His eyes hold such an indescribable depth, almost like a deep pool. They are shadowed by his eyebrows, so tightly together you can feel the tension. With a tap on his nose, though, he relaxes, a slow, resigned smile forming on his lips. He inhales deeply, eyes blinking and mind clearly reeling.

Your hand is clasped in his once again. Naturally his fingers entwine with yours and there’s no denying the pleasant sensation that shoots through your nervous system. It’s like a middle school science experiment, where you would attach the clip to the battery and gaze in awe at the bulb lighting up. You can’t help but liken it to the rush of warmth Five passes onto you by just his touch alone.

“I guess my past wasn’t that easy to bury.” Somehow you know exactly what he means.

Once again, he’s leading you away by the hand. There’s audible chatter deeper in the house but Five seems dismissive of it, quickly leaving. The warm air outside greets you like a hug, and Five pulls out his phone for the taxi app. Your eyes are still glued to the now shut front door. The stone lion creatures on either side of it reinforce the academy’s ‘elitist’ vibe; this is the sophisticated royal club you never got an invite to. It still sends your mind reeling that this was the only home those seven knew, and the warm love of a mother was substituted with a robot and the reassurance of a father . . . well, maybe Pogo filled that void. Speaking of which, where was he?

“How come Pogo didn’t give us a goodbye?” You tug on Five’s hand to get his attention.

He briefly looks up from his phone. “He already did. Well, to me, anyway. I left first.”

Eyebrows furrowing, you almost pout. “I wanted to say bye to him too! And meet your siblings . . .”

A quiet chuckle escapes him, and you internally rejoice at causing it.

“A funeral isn’t exactly the environment I wanted you to meet my family in,” he adds your name to the end for good measure, “besides, the weirdos invited you and I to a family dinner coming up.”

Your eyes widen at that. “A dinner?”

After he finishes ordering the taxi, he pockets his phone, now devoting his undivided attention to you. “Mhm. It’s all seven of us, including our soulmates, actually.”

“So I’m meeting the whole gang plus your sidekick lovers soon?”

Another chuckle bubbles from his lips, and he tightens the grip on your hand. He nods, eyes looking at you in such a way you want to melt right then and there. You’re quick to express your excitement. Five rolls his eyes, insisting none of them are quite as “ _riveting_ ” as him, which earns him a playful shove.

“What about Klaus, huh? I thought he was your favourite,” you tease, eyebrows arched.

He almost protests, looking just about offended. Then he simply shakes his head, his lips tugging upwards. His eyes are a cool verdant, the same colour of sea glass and just as reflective. You hate admitting how long you would spend happily staring into them. Looks like you won’t have the chance to, however, as the taxi pulls up to the curb, its engine purring. Somehow, Five grips your hand even tighter as he pulls you over to it.

“Let’s go back home to Lola,” he says, and you can’t refuse the pure domesticity in his tone.

* * *

The ritual of pressuring Five to wear the alternative clothes you impulsively buy for him commences, with him once again staring contemptuously at the next polo shirt you animatedly hold up. This one is striped black and red; you hope he understands the appeal. He scowls but pulls it on nonetheless. He also wears a new chain that you bought him, this one having an umbrella pendant. He scoffed at it at first, but just before you leave the apartment, it is indeed hooked around his neck.

Coming to the Umbrella Academy for the second time doesn’t wear away the novelty, if anything it emphasises your inferior bank balance. Walking in through the front door still feels like sneaking into an elitist masquerade. Pogo’s greetings are gladly welcomed by you as you traverse the shiny tiles.

You had never seen a chimpanzee smile before, and you are startled at how human Pogo seems when he does. Nevertheless, it’s clearly genuine and you aren’t one to deny kindness.

“I’m happy to greet you under far more positive circumstances, Miss (Name).” You reach over to shake his outstretched hand.

“Me too, Pogo.”

More pleasantries are exchanged but it hardly feels awkward. Five walks slightly ahead of you, now maintaining a conversation with Pogo that you can’t quite follow. The pace is slow enough for you to marvel further at the interior design of the place. It’s a cross between a Renaissance villa and a Victorian countryhouse, and you can only dream where old man Hargreeves got the funding for it. You travel under an archway to the living area you waited in last time. Were those photographs there before? They’re so ornate you’re convinced they must be painted. Of course, there is thirteen-year-old Five, posing next to his siblings in all their teenage, heroic glory. It’s far more formal than the photos you’ve seen online, and you note how the shy girl with long, mousy hair is present, just at the edge of the frame. The tiniest of smiles graces her lips, and Five seems to be much closer in proximity to her than the others. She is in a few other pictures, but you note how she isn’t a strong presence in any of them. Now, though, if memory serves, she was in first chair at a successful orchestra upstate. You ponder how she is in person.

Pogo leads you further down, through a corridor that leads to a wider dining area. The long dining table stretches rather far, and it’s already partially laid. Platters are being brought in by a tall woman donned in pastel dress. She looks as if she’s just walked out of a 1950s advertisement, selling you a shiny new kitchen appliance. Her neutral expression is replaced with a showstopping smile when she catches a glimpse of you. Almost instantly, she places the platters on the table and strides over, heels very audible. Judging by Five’s tender embrace with her, and the name he just muttered, you can safely assume this is Grace, in the flesh. Or rather in the metal, you suppose.

“Five!” she exclaims, “Oh, it’s been so long.”

“It’s only been a month since I last saw you, Mom,” your heart swells upon hearing that term, “I haven’t changed.”

Grace’s grin doesn’t falter. “Still, you know how I missed you.” Her hands are firmly cupping his cheeks and it’s such an endearing sight you want to cry. “I hope you’ve been eating well, and not studying for too long!”

The fact that Five doesn’t make any effort to remove her hands from his face doesn’t go unnoticed. However, his voice betrays his exasperation, though it’s coupled with fondness. “I already graduated last year. I don’t study anymore.”

She emits a soft hum and stares at Five in a way that makes you miss your own mother. Maybe their upbringing wasn’t so bad if they had Grace to give them the love and affection they all needed. Your mind once again wonders just how much money Reginald had to create such a dynamic robot.

Once she registers your presence, Five rushes to introduce you. “This is my soulmate, Mom.”

He observes you so warmly, so softly, you’re fighting back tears. Grace must have picked up on this as she glides towards you, hands resting on your arms.

“Ah, yes,” her cornflower-blue eyes fix on you, and you suddenly feel enveloped in a warm blanket. “you mentioned her.”

You nervously smile, unsure of what to say other than a shaky “hi”. “He mentions you a lot too,” you manage.

A soft giggle escapes her. “I’m sure he does! We spent a lot of time together. He couldn’t get rid of me after all.” Her and Five share a look before her hands wander down to yours. “You are as beautiful as Five said you were,” her voice lowers in pitch as she brings her face closer to you.

“He said that?” you whisper back in shock.

“Well, he implied. You know how he is.”

Your smile now becomes genuine as a warm feeling settles in your chest. However, a question is also burning inside you. “Where are the others?”

“The rest of the academy? Most of them are over in the kitchen, and a few still haven’t arrived yet. Feel free to sit down, though! I’ll bring the others over.” Grin still plastered on her face, Grace hurries across the room to another doorway.

You’re awestruck. The fact that a _robot_ incited such a profound ardency in you with little more than a couple sentences, a look and touch; you supress the tears of pure emotion from falling. Another one of Five’s smirks is clear on his lips as he approaches you, arm hooked through yours.

“ _That_ was your mom?” you breathe out, almost incredulously, at Five’s slightly smug expression.

“Now you know where I get my loving streak.”

Maybe he shouldn’t joke about that, considering his mother was a _mechanical robot_ , but you bite your tongue.

As promised, she returns with several people in tow. Despite Five occasionally showing pictures of his siblings, seeing them in person is an entirely different game. Of course, you know all their names and half their lives at this point, but you figure it’s better to withhold that knowledge. You shake hands, smiling as wide as you can, introducing yourself to people whose photos from when they were thirteen and fighting crime are etched in your memory. The intimidating Number One is somewhat scarier as he glowers down at you, but his soulmate, who also happened to be Number Three, shoots you the most dazzling smile as she makes small talk. She introduces herself as Allison, “and this big ape is Luther.” A movie-star aura radiates from her, what with light curls cascading past her shoulders and a black pencil dress hugging her figure.

Then you meet Number Seven. The withdrawn violinist from all photos is standing before you, voice soft and warm. Her name is Vanya, and she brought along her soulmate, a bubbly girl who had no shortage of jokes as Vanya recounts a small anecdote. She asks if you play any instruments, and you respond that you have about as much musical ability as a vegetable. She laughs and happily responds to your questions about her violin, to which her soulmate insists you should attend her recitals.

“Yes, I’d love to come! I’d drag Five along of course.”

He playfully scowls, then agrees. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t already been going to them.”

Then there’s stoic Number Two, or rather, Diego. He politely nods in greeting, a tight-lipped smile on his face. His soulmate, a detective called Eudora, is far more welcoming but as you and her converse further about expensive apartments and crippling student debt, he warms up a little. As Eudora speaks, Five inches that much closer to you, his hand lazily resting on the small of your back, and his head ever so slightly tilted in your direction. It doesn’t escape your notice that Diego’s eyes regularly flit to Five, occasionally lingering, then switching back to Eudora when she finishes. His initial iciness seems to melt whenever he looks at her, his shoulders becoming more relaxed. You muse if you have the same effect on Five.

Ben Hargreeves. Soft tentacle bookworm. For some reason, meeting him in person reinforces that idea you built in your head about him. He’s dressed casually but with purpose; a button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up, tucked into dark pants, and a leather jacket hanging off his shoulders. _Family dinner at 7 and alternative-indie album cover photoshoot at 8_ kind of vibes. He speaks every bit as eloquently as you thought he would, and your mind summons all the stories Five had told you about him.

“Five told me you really like to read?” You withhold the fact that Five also ‘ _borrowed_ ’ books for him.

Ben’s dark eyes light up and crinkle as he smiles. “Yeah, I love books. I’m doing English lit at college right now, actually.”

“That’s so cool, I studied English lit as a minor while I majored in psychology!” comes your enthusiastic reply.

“Oh really? What were your favourite books?”

Without hesitation you launch into all your favourite pieces of literature. You mention all the ones you studied in college alongside the ones you read for leisure, and even touch on the book you’re currently reading. Ben is attentive but engaging, quickly recognising most of what you’ve read and raving along with you. It’s evident this is his passion as he analyses the novels even deeper than you ever considered. You can’t help but slip in psychological analyses of all your favourite fictional characters and, you hate to admit it, Freudian interpretations. Surprisingly Ben keeps up and expands on them further, bringing historical context into it. Suddenly you’re 21 again, writing a 3000 word essay on the sociological and historical impacts of ‘Lord of The Flies’.

Grace butts in, however, suggesting you all sit down for dinner.

“But where’s Klaus?” Ben asks.

Good question. One that you nudge Five for the answer. He shrugs. “It would be a miracle if Klaus makes it before we leave tonight.”

Bummer. You would love to see the crackhead ghost-buster.

Nevertheless, you all find your seats around the table. The academy kids reminisce about their old seats on this same table, and they all seem to honour that arrangement. Wherever Five sits, though, you will. Grace rushes to serve drinks as the conversation slowly creeps up again.

There’s a loud _slam_ in the distance, followed by a torrent of footsteps that leaves you all gaping at the doorway. Not long after, a lanky man with unruly curls tumbles inside, arm hooked into the arm of a taller, much more built man. He apologetically smiles and opens his mouth, but the former man quickly interrupts him. From beside you, Five heaves a hefty sigh, rolling his eyes.

Ah. _There’s_ Klaus.

“We’re _not_ sorry that we’re late,” he begins, hands gesticulating theatrically, “but thank you all for waiting nonetheless!”

A collective groan ripples through the table, and you look around to see everyone’s expressions contorting to annoyance. Unperturbed by the displeased crowd, Klaus continues, now slowly ambling towards the table. The other man rushing alongside him is clearly flushed.

“Bonjour to all my umbrella siblings, and their lovers,” he winks at you and the other soulmate plus ones, “it’s wonderful to see this place with no dear old dad in sight. I do so hope—”

“Okay, Klaus we get it. Just sit down.” Luther cuts Klaus off with ease. You almost jump at the authority in his tone.

Klaus pouts, akin to a spoiled child. His bottom lip juts out and his eyebrows furrow together, and the image of an annoyed Five enters your mind.

“So bossy, Luther. Even in adulthood.”

You somewhat expected Klaus to stick his tongue out childishly, but he doesn’t.

The man next to Klaus sighs and tugs him towards the table, quick to speak up. “We _are_ sorry for being late. Our taxi got lost and traffic was horrible.” The pointed glare he sends Klaus’ way is brushed off with a ditzy smile from the shorter man as they take their seats.

“Is that Dave?” you whisper to Five. He nods.

As soon as Klaus sits down, he wraps both his arms around Dave’s, and his head gravitates towards his shoulder. Dave still looks flustered but is friendly nonetheless. They’re a little further down the table so you can’t see them that well, but you can still feel Klaus’ chaotic energy from such a short distance. As he converses with his siblings you can tell their dynamic hasn’t changed much from their childhoods. Klaus is loud and exasperating yes, but also endearing and so very entertaining. There must have never been a boring day at the academy with him around.

Vanya and her soulmate are seated much closer to you and Five so you naturally fall into conversation. It’s mostly Five reminiscing with Vanya, but it’s adorable nonetheless as she recounts his obsession with peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches. His cheeks flush a light pink as she mentions the times he teleported her to the Griddy’s diner because the others forgot to invite her last time. Your heart sinks upon hearing that; who could exclude such a sweet girl?

“He said he was only doing it so he could practise teleporting more than one person, but in that case he must have been really good at acting like he enjoyed it.” Vanya laughs, a pure and cheerful sound. Five rolls his eyes but chuckles regardless.

The connection they share fills your heart to the brim with warmth. It’s so wholesome that in such a harmful and strict environment all the siblings formed such deep bonds with one another. Vanya and Five share such a tear-jerking bond that you only wish you and your brother could have had. The fact that he made her feel that much more included and valued in their family dynamic sends your heart racing. Klaus and Ben fall into natural banter, even if it’s primarily Ben poking fun at him. Allison and Vanya smile to each from across the table, and she sometimes chips in on a childhood anecdote. Diego is a little quieter, but his sarcastic comments trigger roaring laughter from the rest of the table and he attentively listens to the stories passed around.

Compared to the rest of the soulmates you’re engaging less. Not intentionally by any means but it seems the others have met up with the academy before, and you missed the invite. Vanya’s soulmate, a dancer called Emma, is larger than life and fits like a jigsaw puzzle in this dynamic. Luther and Allison were soulmates as well as members of the academy themselves. Diego and Eudora are on the quieter side but overall conversational. Klaus involves Dave in every other sentence, and you’d gag if not for the fact you harbour the exact same attachment for Five. Ben doesn’t have a soulmate with him, saying he hasn’t met her yet, and this results in teasing from Klaus but Ben seems so comfortable you forget he’s the only one without a soulmate at the table.

An inside joke is tossed between Vanya and Emma, which Klaus seems to understand and Ben somehow links back to another obscure childhood story and suddenly the entire table, save for you, is bursting into laughter. You smile and awkwardly laugh along with but whatever the punchline was has flown over your head. Focusing on the food instead seems like a good plan, until dessert has been served and a whole now topic has dominated the table. Even Five is involved now, smirking at something Diego snidely remarked after Luther finished talking and you’re even more lost than before. Something about a furry? How did they arrive into this conversation? At least cognitive neuroscience made more sense than this.

You sip the icy cold water, hoping it cools your burning face down. Now your ring is the victim of your anxiety; you twist it around your finger, before sliding it up and down the whole digit. Uncontrollably your leg bounces, your feet lightly tapping the ground each time. All their voices conjoin into dull static, none of them discernible enough for you to comprehend. You gulp but the lump in your throat is stubborn. There must have been another joke, as the static is now high-pitched and almost melodic. Suddenly a vision of Lola, your darling baby Lola, curled up on your bed, big eyes inviting you to sleep the evening away, comforts your eyes and never did you wish harder that you could fulfil it.

There’s a pressure on your shoulder, and your eyes dart from your plate to see a visibly worried Five. The warm lighting gives his eyes a softer olive tone but doesn’t detract from the concern flashing in them. His hand travels from your shoulder to your hand, instantly halting your incessant fiddling. He encases your hand between his, and stares straight into your eyes, right through to your soul.

“What’s wrong?”

Not even an _“are you okay?”_ — he knows without a doubt you’re not.

For some unknown reason, your throat refuses to loosen to give him a proper reply. Somehow, Five’s eyebrows bunch together even further. You can almost hear the packed train of thought rattling along the tracks of his mind.

“How about we go upstairs? No one’s up there.”

You can only weakly nod. He accepts this as a response and rises from the table, making some excuse you don’t even register. Klaus slides an offhanded comment about “being safe” but Five waves him off.

Five slips his arm around your waist, firmly holding you against him. Almost instantly your head droops onto his shoulder as he leads you out of the dining room and up the grand stairs. He seems to have a specific destination in mind as he methodically weaves through corridors. You can’t help but glance at all the wall decorations, most of them being Renaissance paintings. This Hargeeves man seems to have been cultured. The likes of Boticelli and da Vinci on the walls, even if they’re most likely copies, add to the mansion’s grandeur. If only Renaissance women had human rights; you would so thrive in 1500s Italy.

“Are you feeling better?” Five asks softly, now slowing his pace down.

“Yeah,” you croak out, “I just felt a little out of place back there.”

“How come?”

“It felt like everyone already knew each other, and I was just an outsider looking in. Don’t get me wrong, they all seemed really nice but it’s like they had an established dynamic that I was never informed of.”

Five’s hand on your waist gentle slides up and down, and it’s truly a comfort. “Some of them have met up before. They’ve known each for a while as well. Eudora’s been with Diego since the police academy and Klaus and Dave fought at war together. Although Vanya and Emma have hung out with the others many times aside from this dinner.”

“Oh.” You’re not surprised. “Did we ever get invited?”

“Yeah, every time. But it was early during our relationship and I didn’t want to scare you off with my strange family just yet.”

An involuntary giggle bubbles from your throat. “Coming from the guy who ran off at the first sight of me.”

He winces. “Touché.”

A comfortable silence falls on you two. Your head still rests on his shoulder as he navigates the maze before him. It’s relaxing, and the hum of the conversation downstairs is so distant you wouldn’t hear it if you weren’t aware of it.

Soon he stops outside a tall oak door, emblazoned with a bronze ‘5’ on it. He then looks over to you, an eyebrow raised. “Care to see my childhood bedroom?”

You breathe out an agreement. How could he ever think otherwise? With that, he pushes the door open and the two of you step inside.

“I’ve never seen a kid’s room so tidy.”

It is indeed; not a hair out of place. The bed is made to 5-star hotel perfection, and two bedside tables placed on either side. One has a lamp resting on it, with another having an antique-looking clock. An oak desk has an assortment of pens neatly organised in a pot, along with a few books stacked on a small bookshelf attached. Yet another lamp rests on its surface, and judging by its worn edges it’s been used on more than one sleepless night. A wardrobe rests against the wall, properly closed unlike yours that bulges from all your impulsive shopping sprees. The curtains are even drawn back, exposing the waning moon outside. The only ‘messy’ aspect of this room is a large whiteboard right next to his desk, with a few drywipe markers on a small ledge at the bottom. The white surface is covered in countless calculations, all of them overlapping with each other. Some of them have been hastily rubbed out before having several more drawn in place. It’s a visual eyesore and none of it makes sense to your non-mathematical brain.

“Those are my time travel formulas,” he explains, clearly noticing your staring. He makes his way from the doorway to his bed, sinking into the duvet. “After we stopped the apocalypse, I wanted a more temporary way to experiment with the right calculations and perfect my abilities. A notebook would have been easily detected.” He pauses, now staring at it like you are. “I wonder why Mom didn’t rub it off after I left.”

You nod in understanding. They couldn’t really have much in this household, could they?

You walk to his position on his bed and sit next to him, eyes still wandering around the room. There’s a version of Five that resided in his bedroom for 13 years, then another 5 in the second timeline. A version of him that tirelessly scribbled on the whiteboard every bit as messily as the handwriting on your wrist. A version of him that stayed up late whispering to Vanya. A version of him that snuck out with his siblings to get some late-night donuts. A version of him that began to resent and rebel against the only father figure he’s ever had. A version of him that couldn’t quite sleep at night. A version of him that defiantly made that fateful time jump, all those years and timelines ago. A version that, you admit, you don’t know right now. There’s not much of any ‘angry teen’ left in him, and you could argue he’s mellowed out in just the past year since you met. You didn’t stay up with him until you couldn’t keep your eyes open like Vanya, you didn’t share hot coffee with him in Griddy’s, and you didn’t read several novels with him in the company of Ben.

However, you did binge almost all of Hayao Miyazaki’s filmography in one night with Five, you did order coffee together at his favourite café near his apartment, and you did recommend him numerous books that he dutifully read and extensively discussed with you. Maybe that younger version of Five wasn’t all that different to the one sitting beside you. With the way he’s smiling at you right now, though, it really can’t matter all that much, right?

“I never would have imagined my soulmate and I would be sitting in my childhood bedroom.” He’s whispering, almost as if he only wants you to hear. “It feels so perfect.”

His face is somehow inching closer to yours, and each of his features are in clear view even in the dim light of the moon. To his long eyelashes framing his beautifully green eyes, to his high cheekbones and arched brows you’re falling all over again. Whatever Browning was talking about in ‘Sonnet 43’, it must be alive in this moment. How is he turning you into a nervous English student all over again? Regardless, his face is so close and he looks so breath-taking you can’t hold back anymore. Your lips meet quickly but softly, and it’s so gentle you almost whimper. The kiss is slow but so sweet. Five’s hand creeps up your arm, and you shiver at the sensation. His touch is light but it still sends your senses into overdrive. You’re certain he must feel goosebumps under his fingers.

This definitely isn’t the first kiss the two of you have shared, but somehow it feels as though it is. Five seemed to have that ability to turn you into putty in his hands, all soft and malleable. Even now you’re inevitably leaning back into the bed, and before long you’re lying down, him comfortably on top of you. Your lips haven’t disconnected once. His hand wanders down to your sides, and yet another wave of pleasant shivers shoot up your spine. You’re convinced your entire life has been building up to your lips so delectably pressed against Five Hargreeves’. Of course, though, you do break apart, and as Five pulls back you feel a sense of pride at his flushed cheeks and reddened lips. Your hands find their way to his face, cupping his cheeks as if he was fragile. Which, in this moment, he probably is.

There’s so much swimming in those shining eyes of his, you’re not sure where to start. The sheer adoration, first off, makes you want to swoon, and you’re certain you must be returning it tenfold. There’s a softness there as well that touches your heart in ways you can’t articulate. There’s pure wonder, too; at what, you’re not certain. Five’s eyes have become more expressive over time and you’re proud to say you’re able to interpret them better than you could a year ago. You just hope that he likes whatever he sees through those beautiful pupils of his.

“What are you thinking about?”

His query is barely above a whisper and it practically short-circuits your brain. You innocently blink up at him, mind suddenly blank save for his pretty face. Your thumb runs along his soft cheek. No thoughts, head empty, just Five Hargreeves. Until a coherent thought strikes.

“You look like an Adrian.”

Taken aback, he looks as if he’s about to splutter. The infamous expression with his eyebrows returns, somehow more confused than normal. You fear you’ve ruined the moment, but hey ho you could always finish it off at your apartment. His arm stays resting on your waist, however, even as he questions you.

“ _What_?”

There’s no stopping the giggle that escapes your mouth at his dumbfounded face. “Like if you ended up getting a normal name like your siblings instead of sticking with your number, I think your name would be Adrian. You look like an A person.”

He blinks down at you, comically slowly. You bite your lip, suppressing another laugh as the tension in his eyebrows doesn’t cease. Even after you tap his nose, which usually works without fail, his system doesn’t seem to reboot. You’ve broken him.

You dramatically gasp, still not letting up. “Ah, but you also look like an Aidan! Or maybe an Andrew?” You squint up at him, tilting your head this way and that, rotating his now stiff face in your hands. With a strong resolution, you turn him back to face you. “Nope, definitely an Adrian or an Aidan. What do you think?”

Wholly bamboozled, hoodwinked, led astray, Five is clearly at a loss. You’re not sure if he’s been following along with what you’ve been saying but either way whatever soft emotion you originally glimpsed in his eyes has been replaced with complete astonishment. Once again he blinks hilariously slowly at you and this time you really can’t contain your laughter. You wish he could see himself through your eyes. He just shakes his head, but you swear you see the smallest of smiles playing on his lips.

“I think,” he begins, face escaping your grip and approaching yours, “we should head back downstairs,” he then plants a gentle kiss on your forehead, “finish off dessert,” he brushes a few strands of your hair out of your face, “and leave whenever you feel comfortable.”

You smile up at him. “Sounds like a plan.”

And it was; a very good one, at that. After you disentangle yourselves make your way back into the dining hall, you have to admit how much clearer your mind is. The anxiety from before has largely dissipated, and Five is hugely to thank for it. Klaus doesn’t even attempt at another sly joke as the two of you sit down, and instead briefly fills you in on whatever joke had transpired whilst you and Five were gone. Vanya quietly checks in on you, knowing all too well the sharp claws of anxiety, and you reassure her how much better you feel. The table has significantly calmed down, and the topic now looking toward the future.

Pretty soon, all the plates have been cleared and you’re all congregating near the entrance in the throng of goodbyes. You exchange numbers and social media handles with everyone, insisting that Vanya send you the details for her next recital. Klaus descends upon you, saying you’ll definitely be invited to the next café date. You tell Ben he _must_ regularly message you new book recommendations and have some monthly book club, to which he assures you he'll bring along snacks. Allison hints with you a social event coming up, but doesn’t specify, merely winking as she saves your number in her phone. It’s ominous, but also exciting if you get to see everyone again so soon.

Grace and Pogo soon join as well, the two sad to say goodbye but pleased nonetheless to have seen everyone. Overall, the dinner ends on a good note and restored from you nervously zoning out at the table. Five, being the genius that he is, ordered the taxi just before dinner finished, so lets you know of the text he just received confirming it’s outside. With one last goodbye to all the new friends you’ve made, you follow him through the door into the chilly night air. Immediately you cuddle into his side, and he obligingly tightens an arm around you.

You climb in, and Five quickly settles next to you. There’s no need to ask whose apartment you’re heading to — who owns the adorable cat again? As soon as the vehicle begins moving, you’re nestled on his shoulder, cushioned by his thick jacket. His head consequently rests against yours, and his hand clasps yours with a tenderness he’s only ever shown you.

“Allison is definitely throwing an engagement party,” Five suddenly states, matter-of-fact.

“Wait, really? But Luther hasn’t even proposed yet.”

He scoffs. “He will, soon. They wouldn’t stop hinting at it all damn night. The amount of times Allison laid her whole hand on the table . . . besides, those two have been at it since we were thirteen, it’s been an agonising slow burn. I think Klaus has a bet with Diego when they’ll announce it.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fun regardless of when it is,” you shrug, playing with Five’s fingers, “it would build up an expectation for the wedding as well, y’know? Then the reception, a baby shower, a gender reveal, and all the child’s consequent birthdays . . .”

Five chuckles at your ramble, but you’re certain he’s excited too. With his new job, his only free time is spent with you, but all these potential social events, especially along with his family, would be something more to look forward to. Particularly if you were there. For now, though, a feeling of content warms your insides as you’re practically on top of your soulmate, knowing the rest of the night will be spent peacefully in his arms with the ambience of Lola’s purrs. You hope it stays that way for many more years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooooo my lovelies, i hope you enjoyed this chapter!! this is my longest chapter by far (almost 10k words, lemme withhold my tears) and i apologise it took so long!! this was technically the last chapter, but not to worry, i have an epilogue planned that i am very much looking forward to. knowing me, it’s gonna be all fluff ahaha
> 
> school has finally ended for the summer for me but unfortunately i'm barely any less busy. despite covid, i will be still applying to university (skfjdfjsk wish me luck), so i’ll be in the process of extensive research, reading lists, and my personal statement which will make me very occupied,, and i have many more writing projects planned (WiNk WoNk) but i will dutifully finish this story.
> 
> also tua season 2 comes out toMORROW and i’m so reADYYyY,, i plan to watch it on netflix party with my friends and i am prepared for anything at this point. what do you guys think??? i’m so excited to see how they all time-jumped fjskdfj oFC klaus forms a cult. klaus + five supremacy ofc 🥰 (also i don't think it comes through here but i love diego...... i really do, he's just a soft mama's boy and i hope he gets treated better in the next season man. vANYA TOO OMG I'M THE BIGGEST VANYA STAN, LET MY GIRL BE HAPPY THAT'S ALL I ASK)
> 
> feel free to follow my tumblr/twitter, i am also @allucinoctis on there (.❛ ᴗ ❛.)


	6. {epilogue} i couldn't find the right words to use, but i knew that you knew

“Do you know where the new coffee grounds are—”

“In the cupboard next to the fridge.” You don’t miss a beat, continuing to serenely sip your warm tea.

“Thank you,” he almost sings, planting a kiss on your head as he walks past. You’re habituated to the gesture by now but it doesn’t slow down your racing heartrate any less.

As Five gets started on his morning cup of coffee, ‘The Odyssey’ is nestled in your hands, your eyes dutifully soaking up each line. You studied some ancient Greek literature in college so you weren’t a stranger to the likes of Homer or Virgil, but at Five’s behest you developed a newfound appreciation for it. He joked that you could have captured its _classical essence_ had you read it in its original ancient Greek, but delighted nonetheless to see you so absorbed in it. After moving in together, you two wasted no time in developing quite the book collection; hell, you could argue your living room was more of a library with towering bookshelves covering each wall.

The kitchen is saturated in a warm glow as early sunlight filters in through the windows. Today was both of your day’s off, and luckily the calendar was also blank. Five was an early riser regardless of the day’s plans and your confession that it had certainly rubbed off on you would never see the light of day if you could help it. The sounds of Lola burying her nose in her food bowl and Five pouring his deathly bean juice into a mug is a comforting routine.

So when your phone aggressively vibrates from the counter on what was meant to be another delightfully unproductive Sunday, you’re not the only one to cast a surprised looks its away.

The caller ID doesn’t subdue the surprise.

“Hi, Allison.” It comes out as more of a question than you planned. You meet Five’s curious eyes peeking over the mug.

A sigh of relief crackles through the speaker as Allison hastily begins speaking. “Hi,” she says your name with such emphasis you’re scared you’re about to get rumoured, “I’m sorry to bother you and our favourite grump, but this problem has just come up and I’ve exhausted all the other options . . .”

Worry creeps up in your chest but you let her continue.

“. . . are you, by any chance, free tonight?”

Your eyebrows crinkle together, unsure what her point is. You put her on speaker so you have Five as witness to wherever this conversation is heading. Is this another social gathering? If it was, it was completely unlike Allison. She sent notices of her engagement party 2 months prior, and her wedding invitations 3 months more than that. In fact, the only ‘last minute’ (by her standards, at least) event she planned was her baby shower. The thought of her announcing another pregnancy crosses your mind before you remind yourself of the panicked tone in her voice.

“Yeah? Five and I have nothing planned. But what do you—”

“Great!” She interrupts so fast you almost get whiplash. “Okay, uh, I hate to be so last-minute about this, but could you please babysit Clarissa later?”

The silence from your end must have spooked her because she launches into another slightly panicked rant.

“Just for tonight, I promise I’ll pick her up first thing tomorrow morning and she’ll be out of your hair by this same time tomorrow. Again, I’m really sorry to ask, but the babysitter had to cancel on short notice and no one else I called was available. I mean, Vanya said she has an upcoming recital to rehearse for, Diego has a boxing match, Ben has to meet his publisher’s deadline by Tuesday, and Klaus—”

“—isn’t ideal childminding material,” smiling, you practically read her mind, “I get it. But it does seem like everyone is awfully busy on a Sunday night.”

The stress weighing on Allison is crystal clear as she expels another sigh. “I thought that too. But I didn’t wanna rumour anyone into agreeing, and you and Five seemed the most, um, capable, I guess?”

You couldn’t supress your subsequent chuckle. “Just admit Clarissa adores me, Allison, it’s not that hard.”

Her laugh is quiet but still a nice contrast from her previous tension.

“I’d be happy to babysit her.”

The gasp from her following your agreement is almost comical. “Really? Thank you so much, that means a lot to me and Luther! I hate to be a burden, but we’ve planned this for months and it was just as frustrating for us when the babysitter cancelled—”

“Hey, no worries. Clarissa’s never a burden. Five and I didn’t have any plans so, if anything, she’d be providing a little excitement. Just let us know what she needs and she’ll be fine.”

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! If you had said no, I have no clue who else I would have contacted. I felt like if I called Five first he would have instantly shut me down.”

“He wouldn’t have!” You glance over at the man in question, as he’s comfortably leaning on the counter behind him, looking to be following along the exchange with a similar reaction. “He loves Clarissa.”

“I know, but . . . I don’t think he would have agreed to it as fast you did.” You can almost hear Allison’s grimace on the other end.

“Don’t worry, I’ll shape him up into a family man yet,” you playfully respond, and Allison’s relieved laughter rings in your ears.

“Well, once again, you’ve taken the biggest weight off my shoulders,” it’s nice to hear the initial edge to her voice completely absent, “I’ll come by in the afternoon to drop her off, as well as some of her supplies. I assure you she’s low-maintenance, just play with her, read to her, make sure she’s fed and she’ll be out like a light by 7.”

As Allison walks you through Clarissa’s typical night routine, you sip the rest of your tea. Apparently she likes her hair to brushed and braided, she only uses bubblegum-flavoured toothpaste from a specific brand, and she must wear her pyjamas in a certain order. You dramatically widen your eyes at Five, lips still on the mug, and he resists a chuckle. By the time Allison has reached the step of Clarissa’s favourite storybook before bed, you figure her definition of _low-maintenance_ is in a separate dimension from yours.

“Other than that, she won’t be any trouble.”

You smile fondly at your phone. “I’m sure, Allison. She’ll be in safe hands.”

An eased sigh escapes her. There’s a rustle in the background before she speaks again. “Really, you’ve taken such a huge weight off my shoulders. I appreciate it a lot. Luther and I will drop her at around 5 later today, if that’s okay?”

You reassure her that’s fine, and she thanks you once more before you end the call. One wide-eyed look from Five betrays his surprise, but you know he’s excited nonetheless to see his niece. So far, she’s the only offspring from the Hargeeves’ siblings so she’s showered with the most attention at all the gatherings. But amongst the throng of admirers the three-year-old already accumulated, she held a soft spot for “ _Uncle Five_ ”, and he secretly relished in it. More than once she’d be seated on his lap, head leaning against his chest as the rest of the adults were stood up and conversing elsewhere. Five wouldn’t be caught dead saying it out loud, but Clarissa meant the world to him. Besides you, of course. And your shared furry child Lola.

The two of you spend the hours leading up to her arrival preparing the apartment. It was already fairly tidy, but moving wires and sharp objects out of view was a must. You and Five make good enough money so the place is pretty spacious and organised anyway, but you could never be too safe.

It never fails to confound you that you moved in together only last year. Your parents promptly married and bought a house as soon as they found each other in their early twenties, so they expressed their worry for you during your regular calls. Five was so self-assured and confident, so fiercely independent yet still craving human contact. No, that wasn’t your inner psychoanalyst speaking, rather you being unsure if he could live with another person. He seemed happy enough staying over at yours for the better half of the week and spending most of his free time with you, but he was still witty, standoffish Five Hargreeves. He still had his own apartment to return to if he wished. Vanya once told you that his bedroom back in the academy was on the floor above theirs in order for him to practise his power, and this meant the others weren’t as inclined as she was to visit him. Now that you remember, it did seem like a long walk up to his room during that dinner so long ago. He must have been even more socially isolated in the apocalypse, with nothing but a mannequin with your name to keep him company. Of course, you could never forget your first meeting. You doubt Five from back then could recognise the softer Five dutifully vacuuming the living room right now. Same person in a different timeline, maybe?

Soon, there comes a loud knock that reverberates around the apartment. Didn’t Luther listen the last time you told him he didn’t need to use that much force? Nevertheless, after a quick glance around the apartment, you stride over to the door and open it. Almost immediately, a spew of “thank you”s and more of Clarissa’s nightly habits escapes Allison. Luther is holding the aforementioned toddler, and it’s striking how much of a semblance they share. She shares the same perpetually confused expression, and her brow furrows almost exactly like his. Luther was many things to you, a father not high on that list, but he melded with the role startingly well.

“As I said earlier, I promise she won’t be much trouble. A quick bedtime story and she’ll be knocked out before you know it.” You don’t miss the relief in Allison’s eyes.

Luther kisses Clarissa’s cheek as if it’s the last time and your heart cracks ever so slightly.

“Please send us pictures and keep us updated,” he asks, smoothing his daughter’s corkscrew curls out of her face. He coos in an even softer manner, “Mommy and Daddy will be right back, okay, moonshine?”

Reluctantly, he places her down, and Allison leans down to her level, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“You gotta behave for Uncle Five and your Aunt, alright?”

At this, you turn and pull a face at Five, clutching your heart. He rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless.

Clarissa nods slowly, gripping her mom’s now straight hair. Allison bundles her into her arms one last time. “We love you,” she whispers into her hair.

This farewell scene feels like a movie, and you’re certain Luther will shed a tear until Allison straightens up and smiles widely at you and Five.

“Thank you for pulling through so last minute. We’ll be back for her no later than tomorrow morning.”

You shake your head. “No worries, she’s safe with us.”

Five moves to bring in the duffel bag of Clarissa’s things, eyes widening at just how heavy it is. You beckon the girl closer to you, and she tentatively walks further into the house. Once she’s by your side, she gazes up at her parents in the doorway. Luther weakly waves with a half-smile on his face, and Allison has a similar expression.

“See you in the morning, moonshine.”

Clarissa’s hand clings to your leg as she returns her parents’ wave. Once the door closes, her grip doesn’t cease.

She’s a quiet kid, but expressive nonetheless. She has a smile that could rival her mother’s and a laugh that’s a pure melody. Expressive, hazel eyes betray her every emotion, and tend to crinkle whenever she’s happy. You put on a cartoon for her on the TV and she watches, rapt, as if in a seminar. Five chops up fruit on a plate for her, and she munches so daintily on them, eyes still focused on the screen.

The time you and Five would eat dinner together was fast approaching so you head to the kitchen, opting for a simple pasta dish. By the time the spaghetti is boiling and the sauce is simmering, you check up on your beloved time traveller and his sweet niece, and you almost swoon at the sight awaiting you.

Five is fully settled on the couch, back sinking into the cushion behind him. Perfectly comfortable, Clarissa is cuddled into his side, his hand deeply threaded in her hair. Her chest expands rhythmically, eyes half-closed. The cartoon is still playing on the screen, and Five is paying just as much attention as she is.

An explosion lights up the TV screen, resulting in a fit of giggles from the little girl. Five scoffs and whispers to her, “That wouldn’t be possible in real life, you know. They didn’t add enough sodium.”

His eyes flicker to yours momentarily, and a small smirk creeps up on his lips. You tilt your head towards the kitchen. He nods in understanding, and nudges Clarissa as he rises. Soon she’s following him to the kitchen table, his hand firmly grasped in hers.

She eats like she speaks; quietly and carefully. She’s nowhere near as picky as Allison made her seem. Hot pasta swirls her fork as she swings her feet back and forth under the table. It’s an adorable sight, especially when the sauce splashes on her cheek. You coo at her before wiping it off. Once all three of you are finished, Five clears away the plates. She yawns whilst simultaneously rubbing her eyes.

“You tired, baby?” you ask.

A slow nod. You open your arms wide, and she walks right into your embrace. As you pick her up, her head drops to your shoulder. Allison mentioned she likes a bath before bed, so you head towards the bathroom. You glance over at Five, who raises his mug up to Clarissa, and you hear her soft giggles clear in your ear.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

As the bathwater bubbles up, you help her brush her teeth. She’s adamant in doing it herself, though, and you watch on as she cautiously moves the toothbrush around her mouth. She is using the bubblegum-flavoured toothpaste Allison packed, but only because you offered it. She definitely didn’t ask for it. In the bath she’s smiley and content, blowing bubbles in your face. Allison also packed a misshapen rubber duckie, that Clarissa latches onto as soon as you brandish. “Donald,” she whispers as she glides him along the water’s surface.

Barely twenty minutes later, she’s satisfied, and steps out of the bathtub herself. Unplugging the drain is her next task, before patting herself dry with the towel you hand her. Despite speaking in broken sentences at best, the girl is oddly independent. Even when wearing her pyjamas, she does indeed tug them on in a certain order. She buttoned the shirt wrong, but upon noticing hurriedly fixed it. She looks up at you, eyes sparkling. Her arms are stretched out as she gradually turns before facing you once again.

You dramatically gasp. “You look like a princess.”

The smile on her face could challenge the moon itself.

You snap a picture of her quickly, keeping a mental note to send to Allison later. She was right on another matter; Clarissa loves her hair being brushed. She obediently sits herself down next to the bed in the guest bedroom. You were seated behind her, armed with pastel-coloured barrettes and the tangle-teaser brush Allison provided. Her daughter’s curls were looser than her own, but still beautiful as you pulled the brush through it. She moves her head when you ask her to, and passes the hair tie when you ask her to. You braid the other half of her damp hair, making sure not to do so too tightly.

“I wish I had a sister growing up,” you muse, fingers still holding bunches of her hair, “so I could play with her hair and style it whenever I wanted to.”

“Instead,” you hold the white hair barrettes in your mouth as you tie the second braid off, “I grew up with annoying brothers who couldn’t tell the difference between turquoise and teal.” You ask her to turn around, and she quickly positions herself to face you. You slide the barrettes on both sides of her head. Her small hands run over them appreciatively. Her eyes wander past you to the doorway, and they light up like two stars. She shoots up from her seat, and you whirl around to see Five in the doorway.

With the way she scurries up to him you’d have thought it was Luther there. She grabs his hand tightly. Five crouches down, maintaining eye contact with her the whole time. His other hand finds hers, and his lips tug upwards in the most amiable smile. The sight warms your chest like nothing else.

“Read to me?”

Her voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear, but it nevertheless shoots an arrow of cuteness straight to your heart.

“I’d love to,” comes Five’s soft response.

The two snuggle up on the bed, and Clarissa buries herself into Five’s side as his arm loops around her to hold the large storybook. From what you can hear, it sounds like a story about an astronaut in space. It’s no question as to who picked that out.

Five reading voice is so full of life and intrigue you wish he would read to you sometimes. As he describes this lonely astronaut on the moon wistfully gazing at the earth, she’s listening attentively, fingers ghosting over the brightly coloured pages. Upon more listening, however, the astronaut bounces every day, waving erratically at the earth in the hopes of his family and friends seeing him.

“Of course, that wouldn’t actually happen in space, the air is far too thin. There’s also such little gravity he would have floated off the moon altogether.” It seems Five can’t hold back from pointing out the inaccuracies even in a children’s book, but Clarissa smiles, unfazed.

“But I suppose we all must disobey the laws of physics sometimes for our loved ones.”

He looks so domestic, reading a bedtime story to a sleepy little girl, laughing along with her when she points at one of the pictures, occasionally leaning down to kiss her head. It all builds up this mental picture you have of Five as a father. You felt as if he would react to being a father the same way he reacted to meeting you for the first time. But he took to the role like a duck to water, almost instinctively understanding how to interact with children. Five was already a great uncle; ‘Dad’ didn’t sound too bad either.

Clarissa can’t hold back the next yawn regardless of how hard she fights it. She rubs her bleary eyes, and Five simpers to her before closing the book and tucking her in. A soft kiss is planted on her forehead, and her eyes droop.

“Goodnight, Uncle Five.”

He smooths the fly-away hairs down, then promptly clips them back with the barrette. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

She beams, sleep subduing her ability to grin any wider. Then her eyes flash to you, and your heart races.

“Goodnight, Auntie.” She utters your name before her eyes fully close, and her breathing evens.

Five looks up at you warmly, getting up from beside her. His eyes then remain on Clarissa’s sleeping form, the blanket snugly up to her chin. Your eyes, however, are focused on him and the pure unsaturated love on his face. Your stare doesn’t go unnoticed, however, as Five catches your eyes. He’s flustered as he asks, “What?”

Head tilted, you hum. “Nothing.”

He scoffs, looking back at the sleeping toddler.

“You’d just make a great dad.”

You’re certain you just reset his pulse because he’s doing the comically slow blink again. A muted pink blooms on his cheeks as he chuckles.

“I have to put a ring on you first.”

“And if I beat you to it?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

You scrunch your nose. “Either way, I guess we’ll have a small pack of time travellers running around soon.”

Regardless of how much you know you’re melting his insides, Five doesn’t miss a beat. “We don’t know if any of our powers are genetic actually—”

“Well, we have an awful lot of time to find out, don’t we?”

Five pulls back, eyes narrowing. You innocently smile back, but he chuckles as he shakes his head. He’s about to fire a shot back until your phone aggressively rings in your pocket. Pulling it out, you see it’s Allison.

The call is brief, just her checking up on Clarissa. She breathes a sigh of relief upon hearing that she’s asleep, which reminds you to send the photo you took of her after she dressed herself. Allison’s voice warbles through the speaker once you send it, and there’s a similar high-pitched reaction from Luther as she passes the phone to him. It’s endearing, honestly. It leaves you wondering what kind of parents you and Five would be. Once Allison thanks you again and confirms what time she’ll pick up Clarissa, you hang up, feeling like an accomplished babysitter.

It's still pretty early for you and Five, so you spend some time cleaning up the apartment. Clarissa barely made a mess; only a few of her toys left her duffel bag, which you easily deposit back in. You take the clothes she took off before taking a bath to the duffel bag, folding them then placing them inside. You grab the storybook discarded on the bedside table back to the duffel bag as well. Soon, you’re settled on the living room couch, once again reading the Odyssey. Long-suffering Odysseus recounting his unfortunate journey to the Phaeacians is what occupies your next few hours.

By the time midnight rolls around, you are indeed tired. You bookmark your page and walk over to the guest bedroom to check on Clarissa. Sure enough, she’s still sound asleep. Your shared bedroom doesn’t have Five in it, though, so you check the last room he’d be in; the study.

He's hunched over his desk, his laptop propped open as he rapidly types. A notebook lies open next to it, and he occasionally scribbles something down. He doesn’t react to you opening the door or walking over to him until you’re peering over his shoulder, chin resting on top of him, arms looped around him.

“Good evening, dear sir,” you mutter, eyes skimming over his research paper. “when will you be retiring to our sleeping quarters?”

He smirks. He places a soft kiss on your forearm, and turns to look at you. “Give me an hour to finish up some work then I’ll be all yours.”

With one hand keeping his beautiful visage facing you, the fingers on your other hand pull the corners of his lips up into a faux smile, and he humours you before you let go and he rolls his eyes. Preventing him from pulling away, though, you give him a quick and gentle kiss. The smile on his face afterwards is more than rewarding.

“Goodnight, handsome.”

You’re truly spent, so you manage your night-time skincare routine and a quick change of clothes before you crash into bed. You’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow, and all you remember before your eyes closing is a sleepy apology to Five.

* * *

Five knew you weren’t going to last another hour awake, but he allowed himself to hope. He made good enough progress on his paper, so he saves his document and shuts the laptop down. His bones crack as he stretches, ambling towards the guest bedroom for one last checkup on his niece.

Clarissa’s breathing is rhythmic, head buried in the pillow. Even in sleep she’s quiet and reserved, not shifting an inch from the original position he tucked her in. She reminds him so much of Vanya sometimes it was scary. The pure peace on the little girl’s face is infectious, and Five can’t stop a gentle smile as he gazes down at her. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or his newfound baby fever, but he can see traces of your future children in her face. He imagines her smooth skin to resemble your skintone better, and the nose and eyelashes to match. Her loose braids gradually hold the colour of your hair, but his mind does wander to the possibility of having his dark tresses. You still had your messy self-cut bangs years later, and Five is certain you’ll subject your children to the same at-home salon treatment. The little girl (or boy, but he has to be honest with himself, he’s enamoured with the idea of a little replica of you snuggled up to him, calling him daddy, as he reads another scientifically inaccurate storybook) has your inquisitive nature but also his wits; if you oblige to siblings for the first child, he has to make sure they’re equipped with appropriate sarcasm for future arguments. He wouldn’t let his children to be anything short of small intellectuals.

He doesn’t know how she did it, but Clarissa single-handedly (though you heavily contributed) gave him an intense bout of baby fever and Five never saw himself as a family man.

As Five settles into bed beside you, however, these ‘what if’ scenarios don’t relent. You take up most of his field of vision, and his eyes are scanning the planes and contours of your face, committing to memory each pore and crease. You look so relaxed; he secretly hopes you’re dreaming of him. Each day he’s falling deeper in love with you and you seem to be none the wiser. Love and affection came so effortlessly to you, and you gave it to him just as easily. You seemed to pour more and more of yourself into him and Five would be damned if he didn’t give just as much, if not more back. His fingers trace your cheekbone, down to your jawline. You twitch but don’t stir.

Moments like these that are just the two of you give him a feeling he didn’t think he was capable of. Sure, there was the love he held for his siblings and his fierce determination to save them. ‘Delores’ flickers in his mind but she was a distant memory now, a forgotten daydream posing in a clothing store an hour from here. Nothing compared to the joy that would flare up your whole face when you figured out the punchline of a joke, or the ardent trance a good book would put you under for multiple hours, or the excitement in your eyes when you purchased a new pair of Doc Martens to break in (he still didn’t understand your obsession with those chunky blocks you called ‘shoes’).

There was a way you sanded away his rough edges, when tentative hand-holding became regularly falling asleep with his head in your lap. Learning the majority of his social skills from a super-intelligent monkey, a robot and a rowdy bunch of less-than-normal siblings proved little no challenge for you, and he was so grateful. A dysfunctional family was his first blueprint of human interaction, but you somehow reassembled the cogs in his brain to see love as more expressive and gentler, the same way he imagined as a child. He grew up with an eccentric family, but he could envision rebuilding another with you.

Five was many things, but not religious, yet he thanked whatever higher power there was that allowed him that one successful time jump to restart it all and finally find you. He was thankful that the one astrophysics book series by one of his favourite authors wasn’t available in his local library and he made that inconvenient but scenic train journey every week. The first time he just didn’t know the area and didn’t want to teleport directly into the library, but afterwards it became a pleasant routine. And, after meeting you, he had something extra to look forward to at the end of the journey. He’s certain even in an alternate universe where the two of you weren’t soulmates, and the universe didn’t put his name on your wrist or yours on his, he’d still be sharing this bed with you, fingers softly grazing your skin.

There’s so much more he wishes he could ramble (you seem to have that effect on him) to you, but you’re out like a light and so calm. There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep, he supposes. He resolves to tell you all this and more in the morning after Luther and Allison pick up Clarissa, but for now he’ll settle for a quiet confession in the dark.

Five knows more than anybody how fickle and precious time is, but he also knows he’d happily waste it all if it’s with you.

“I love you, sunshine.”

* * *

_“…There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible — magic to make the sanest man go mad._   
_Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.”_

― Homer, The Iliad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. this is it. the end, i suppose. 
> 
> i’m honestly not sure what to say haha, this is kinda awkward 😳
> 
> firstly, thank you all from the bottom of my huge-ass heart for reading this, leaving kudos and such sweet comments!! it delights me to no end that you found such happiness and solace in this lil story of mine, and i’m so blessed to have such adorable readers ❤️
> 
> this is the first multi-chapter fic i fully dedicated myself to and finished within a reasonable timeframe, so it has a special place in my heart. bruh it was really frustrating at times i won’t lie, but season 2 spurred me on. idc what anyone says, this is my ideal, comfort daydream and i’m so happy you all went on this journey with me!! the fact that so many people read mY work and love it ???? mind-boggling, truly. i’ve swooned over each comment, and it made my day replying to them. having such fun comment threads with some of you (shoutout to my favourite ray of sunshine 🥺) has reminded why i love writing so much, and although i would still write all this self-indulgent fantasy even if no one read it, your comments make my heart swell and reassure me i’m not alone in this daydream of mine ahaha,, also if any of you didn't figure out yet, the title + chapter titles are from the song 'remember when' by wallows, one of my favourite bands. the song is incredible and heavily inspired this fic so please do listen to it along with the rest of their album!!!!!
> 
> the incoming school year will most likely wreck me, so i have no clue how much writing i will get done. however i will try my best to make time for more fics bc this genuinely means so much to me. i definitely have more umbrella academy fics lined up that i hope you all enjoy! no more multi-chapter ones like this one for the foreseeable aha but quite a few oneshots. there will be even more au’s so be warned 👀
> 
> (if you like anime, i will be writing a lot more anime fics before tua, so look out for those uwu)
> 
> if you want to see me when i’m not aggressively writing away, feel free to follow my tumblr/twitter, which are also @allucinoctis !
> 
> n e ways before i ramble further, once again all your support has been a huge motivation for my writing, and i’m so proud i managed to complete this story and it’s one less potentially unfinished fic in your bookmarks sdkfksdjf,, i hope the epilogue was a satisfying end for you all, and i will see you in my next fic (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡


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